A Deal with The Enchantress
by 3431jess
Summary: AU. What if Maurice made a deal with the Enchantress to save his dying wife? The Enchantress granted his wish. The price? Just Maurice's only daughter. What if the selfish prince met Belle before the curse? And what if the Enchantress made her forget about him, but he still remembered her? Based on live action 2017. (M on Chapter 2 for violence.)
1. The Deal

Who hasn't experienced the pain of love?

Or is it the fear of losing someone you care and cherish?

The pain of grief?

The pain of loss and despair?

Isn't love supposed to be a passionate, overpowering emotion? Isn't it supposed to be something that makes your heart flutter and your spirits soar every time you think of the person you've fallen in love with? People say love is capable of making everything around you feel utterly breathtaking, fascinating, exhilarating, endlessly magical.

Well, Maurice was certain that the love he was experiencing now was nothing like that. In fact, quite the opposite.

Adjusting his coat tighter against the frigid wintry wind, he huffed before commanding his unwilling feet to move. His sudden movement stirred the tiny being in his arms and within seconds an agitated whimper could be heard. Maurice dashed frantically through the cobbled streets of Paris, looking for a decent place to sit and rest. He settled with an old, tattered wooden bench whose seat was rotten with age. Depositing his belongings on the ground, he turned his attention to the bundle in his cradle that was pleading for his attention.

"There….there… Papa is here. Are you hungry my darling?" he crooned down to the infant, who gradually wound down from offended screams to hiccuping little sobs. Maurice reached for some milk supply in his bag. In a few minutes, the infant returned to her slumber, and Maurice expelled a sigh of relief. He stared at her peaceful countenance and once again was engulfed in a drowning wave of naked admiration. She was beautiful, except for her alabaster skin, the baby was almost an exact copy of his wife. It was like looking at her portrait in a whole different time. But something tugged painfully in his chest when he remembered the love of his life. A name rippled in his mind…

… _.Estelle._

A few weeks ago, Estelle had bestowed upon him the best gift he had ever received. When Maurice had looked down at the tiny figure nested in his wife's embrace, his heart had swelled with endless joy and hope. The baby was red, her face scrunched up in a undelighted frown, her skin was wrinkly and her eyes still shut. On the bed lay Estelle, looking exhausted and disheveled, but with a radiant smile reaching far into her eyes. An alien, but affectionate, warmth had crept through his entire being as he had watched Estelle lean down to plant a kiss on the baby's forehead.

 _Their_ baby.

All the screams of pain and agony were long forgotten, replaced by joy. A calm had fallen over the room, Maurice almost felt guilty to break it. Somehow, his inquisitiveness invited his feet to inch closer and have a little look.

"Come and meet your daughter, Maurice," he remembered her saying as she handed the baby over to him.

Maurice had hesitated, standing stock-still, face terrified, looking at the tiny being whose face was squished up into wrinkles and absolutely, hideously perfect. "Wait! What if I….hurt her?"

But Estelle didn't give him any room for negotiation, nonchalantly placing the baby into his awkward hold. Every fiber in his body had screamed in panic and fear and….-

When the soft swaddling cloth grazed his arms his mind went blank, thankfully, his fatherly instincts took over and he didn't drop the baby.

The infant had snuggled into her blanket, sleepy with milk. But the sudden 'handover' experience had disturbed her peaceful slumber. She opened her eyes, rolling her little tongue as she yawned, and was soon trying to suck her papa's massive finger that he gently grazed over her cheek.

As soon as Maurice looked into her hazel eyes, he fell in love…

"Isn't she precious?" The tired but warm voice of his wife had whispered, her glazed eyes full of pride."What are we going to name her?"

Maurice hadn't been able to take his eyes off the tiny creature resting in the curve of his arms, she was…. astonishingly beautiful!

"Belle….we shall name her _Belle_ ," he had replied eloquently as he nuzzled the baby's soft cheek, inhaling her sweet newborn smell, delicate and innocent.

Maurice remembered that his eyes had begun to fill with moisture as he cradled his new daughter, swaddling her closer to his heart, as he gently swayed and smiled mindlessly. Such happiness and pride had welled up in his chest - it was an indescribable feeling, as though he had just received a piece of heaven. This was Belle, the embodiment of their love, a symbol of their boundless dedication towards each other. At that moment, Maurice was sure his life couldn't have been more perfect.

On the same day Maurice found himself in the streets of Paris, in the same part of the city, Agathe; in her current disguise as an old woman; strode aimlessly down the busy aisle of Rue d'Arcole. She was wearing modest clothing, withdrawing herself from the attention of the passerby, as her trained eyes watched men and women minding their own business before the sliver of sun sunk beneath the horizon. Tomorrow she would have to return to Villeneuve, where she had been closely monitoring a ruthless, conceited ruler and his spoiled-rotten son that, allegedly, had been driving his subjects to the brink of poverty. But, her enchantress' sense somehow alerted her that today she was needed in Paris, because _someone…_ may require her assistance.

Then she saw him. A man, not older than thirty-five, sitting on the corner of the road, tucked away from the prying eyes of the public. He held a tiny creature in his arms, a newborn. His bloodshot eyes were glazed with tears; his countenance weighed down with despair and sorrow. Agathe was certain; this man was the reason why she was here.

" _Excusez-moi_ Monsieur, are you alright?" An unfamiliar raspy voice broke Maurice from his reverie. In front of him was a lady. Judging from her crooked posture, a glimpse of her face, and her hands, the woman was much older than him; wearing a shabby, discolored, borderline unwearable peasant dress and an equally ragged cloak dangling just slightly above the filthy street. Most of her face was concealed under the shadow of her hood. Perhaps she was a…. Beggar? Traveller? Maurice speculated.

Maurice rubbed his eyes and blinked several times to shake off the fantastical daze that danced around his vision. But wait…his cheeks were…. _wet_. Had he been…-?

"Here, use this," the stranger offered kindly, passing him a surprisingly pristine white handkerchief that seemed to appear from nowhere. Maurice accepted it reluctantly. A small bottle of alcohol, tucked safely in his pocket didn't go unnoticed by Agathe's watchful eyes.

"I don't mean to pry, but may I ask what is troubling you, Monsieur?" she inquired.

"It's just… my wife," Maurice retorted bleakly. "She is… she is….-"

 _Dying._ He wanted to say, but a powerful sob took his breath away. These last three weeks, Maurice's life had been a living nightmare. With a newborn baby to tend, he was forced to watch as illness strangled Estelle's body, chewing up her strength and dimming that spark of life in her defiant eyes, they were no longer filled with zest for life.

"Her condition deteriorated as the day went by," Maurice began again after regulating his breath. "I'm just..- I had to leave her." His eyes stared into space as he cupped his own chin, embracing the frustration of the world.

The woman paused for a moment, before suggesting. "Sorry if this sounds patronizing, but why don't you take her to the hospital where she can get better care?" Her voice sounded puzzled, but Maurice had expected this.

He let an aggrieved sigh. "No… it's just not possible because she is….- nevermind." Maurice instantaneously impeded his own intention to expound his great dilemma. If there were any benefit in narrating his current predicament to a stranger, it would be to ease his own sense of guilt.

"I am sorry to hear that," the old woman could only respond apologetically even when curiosity piqued in her chest."You must've been torn."

Torn was truly an understatement. Maurice was destroyed when the doctor announced there was no hope for a cure and advised him and Belle to leave before the plague got them too. He took a measured breath, trying to curb the lashing emotions in his chest and remain composed. However, the woman's compassionate words unlocked that in a heartbeat. The pain in his heart was as sharp as ever, undimmed by any alcoholic haze. And as the woman's surprisingly warm hands wrapped around his to express her sympathy, his composure finally wore down to nothing. His eyes narrowed with rage, spilling angry tears. He wept his heart out into his palms, snorting and weeping profoundly.

"She is… she is a gypsy." His voice was small. "No...no hospital would… would accept her," he stuttered between broken words and unmanly sobs. "I am heading somewhere, to start anew with my daughter." _And I have left my Estelle to die… alone_. The cruel thought claimed his senses, vicious and unforgiving. "I...I don't. I don't know whether I can go on without my Estelle….by my side."

Stitching all his disjointed sentences together, Agathe finally grasped the whole story. She eyed him carefully, and a wave of pity engulfed her. "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love," she articulated eloquently, her voice kind and soft. "Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity and ability to love serves to counteract their grief and heals them. You must be strong for your little girl, Monsieur. You love her don't you?"

Maurice replied to her fluent rhetoric with a weak nod. There was a lot of wisdom in her words, he had to be strong and move on courageously for Belle's sake. A faint smile graced his lips. "I suppose you are right," he sighed resignedly.

At that moment Agathe was deeply touched by Maurice's love for his family and readiness to suffer. "Now, perhaps I can help you by curing your wife and extending her life by a few years."

Her words felt like a metaphorical slap in Maurice's face, and his heart gave an invigorating leap at her claim. "Cure my wife?! But… the doctor…-" his logical mind wanted to dismiss this hope with skepticism.

"I know I am no physician, Monsieur," the lady clipped his answer, but her tone was kind and patient.

"Maurice, Maurice Beaumont," he swiftly inserted, staring at the lady with rebounded hopefulness.

"No one can avoid the angel of death when it desires to take its victim. We mortals all will eventually die. I can only delay and buy you some time," she explained. "But… I cannot postpone death for free, Monsieur Beaumont."

 _She requires a payment_ , Maurice mused _. Is this some sort of black magic? Witchcraft?_ He contemplated. To be perfectly honest, Maurice didn't care. Whatever it was, for the wife that he loved, he was more than willing to be enslaved, ready to live in deep poverty even trade his life for hers if that was what was required just to buy her those few extra days.

"I don't have much money, Madame," he admitted. "But if you, in your grace and benevolence, could save my wife from the clutch of death this once, I will do anything you require to repay you."

"Anything?"

"Yes, _anything_ ," he affirmed, a spark of hopefulness emanating from his eyes.

"I could lend you a few years to her life," Agathe stated rigorously. "But, I must borrow that from someone else," she muttered lowly under her breath almost inaudible to Maurice's ears.

"Someone else? Take it from me!" Maurice asserted without any second thoughts. "Take it as many years as you need," he declared without hesitation.

"Unfortunately it isn't that simple Monsieur," Agathe replied, her eyes following the curve of Maurice's hand and her sight fell on the baby in his grasp. "I have to take it out of the life of someone you love just as strongly, otherwise the spell won't work."

Maurice gasped audibly when he realized who the old woman was staring at. He felt his chest tighten and fear claw up his throat.

"No...no… please don't shorten her life!" he pleaded pitifully, his face marred with panic and dread. "Her life is barely just begun. _S'il vous plaît,_ Madame... just take mine instead...-!"

"No, that's not what I meant Monsieur Beaumont," Agathe said, clearing the misunderstanding. "Those borrowed years won't shorten your daughter's life, but she will have to be bound to me and do as I request. Rest assured I won't harm her life."

A sense of relief cascaded down his face as soon as the old lady's word reached his ears. Maurice meditated intently, it was a hard decision to make, but he decided that Belle would benefit from having her mother a few more years than none at all. Besides, this elusive stranger could lose track of them, or even forget about the deal altogether?

"I accept your condition," Maurice stated his resolve firmly.

"Very well," the lady nodded, before pulling out an astonishingly impeccable looking blood-red rose from under her cloak. How the rose remained stowed beneath her garment without any of its petals becoming mangled or withered would continue to be a mystery to Maurice.

"Tell your wife to smell _this_ , and the plague shall leave her," the lady commanded conclusively before handing over the flower. Maurice's brows drew together in bewilderment over the absurdity of the request, but he decided to hold his skepticism at bay. _As long as my Estelle returns to health,_ he thought. _I will do_ _anything, no matter how ridiculous._

"I will certainly do so, Madame. _Merci_ ," he responded offhandedly. For a few silent moments, Maurice was captivated by the beautiful, but peculiar crimson rose in his hand. Its petals had a strange gleam around them, the stalk scaled with thorns that were surprisingly soft to the touch, and it carried a distinctive yet unidentifiable scent to it, unlike any other rose he had ever smelled.

"Uh, pardon me," Maurice sobered, realizing he had been staring and twirling the flower in his hands like a person who had never seen a rose before. He swiftly tucked the blossom carefully into his bag, while the enigmatic lady was still there, smiling at him understandingly.

"Would you care for some food?" Maurice offered, thinking it was the next sensible thing he could do as an immediate act of gratefulness. "I am afraid I have nothing exciting, but it would help replenish your strength." Maurice pulled his bag up and began to rummage through its contents, searching for some bread he could share.

"Oh, that's quite all right. I just returned from a long journey, that's all. A little tired, but I am fine really," Agathe politely rejected his thoughtful act, however, she took note of Maurice's kindness and generosity.

"Long journey?" Maurice repeated.

"Yes, I just came back… mmm…visiting my relatives in Villeneuve," she replied tentatively.

"Villeneuve you said?" Maurice's voice raised in interest, brows knotted artfully.

"Yes," Agathe replied tersely, observing Maurice's reaction carefully.

"Oh, what a coincidence! I have a cousin who lived there, but mind you; he said he would move out sooner or later. The ruler of that region is famous for…-"

"So, you've heard," Agathe chuckled dryly, recalling the atrocity created by the tyrannical, selfish ruler that she planned to deal with one of these days.

"Yes… not the most pleasant place to live," Maurice commented absently. "I hope there will be some revolutionary changes once his son rises to the throne."

Agathe just responded to him with an inscrutable stare before politely excusing herself. "I must get going. I wish you all the best, Monsieur Beaumont. I am sure we shall meet again someday."

" _Merci beaucoup,_ Madame. You've truly made my day," Maurice said with sincere gratitude, consciously lifting his hat and smiling warmly at his wife's savior.

As Maurice watched the enigmatic woman's retreating form, he mused in his head about his odd and surreal encounter. He wondered whether or not it was just a resolve of his delusional sadness, a fragment of his wild imagination or a depiction of his fantasy. It all sounded so impossible, yet the rose was still there, tangible evidence that he wasn't hallucinating.

A few seconds later, he realized something. "Wait, Madame! I haven't asked your name!" Only to address Agathe's retreating back as her silhouette dissolved amidst the crowds.

* * *

Note: Hello, this is my first multi-chapter BATB fiction. After a good response putting in the series of one shot (which I am going to expand further), I want to try to write something a little deeper. There is a possibility the rating may increase to M in the later chapter, and the chance of Belle meeting Adam before the curse.

I just noticed that the same guy who played Maurice was the voice actor of Phoebus in 'Hunchback of Notredame.' I am sure this was a pure coincidence, but I like the idea of him and Esmeralda as Belle's parents, especially after I remember Maurice's remark about her being fearless.


	2. The Prince

_Meanwhile, in the same time, miles away from Paris…._

"Cogsworth!" shouted the sharp, imperial voice. The middle-aged man with the ample belly froze when he heard his name being called in such manner. Did he accidentally misplace the Prince's favorite book? Did he forget to put milk in his tea? Did he..-

"Cogsworth!" the angry voice repeated, the middle age servant immediately accelerated towards the source of that barking call.

"Y-yes Master?" The stocky man, a few inches taller than young Adam, appeared by the door, twisting the hem of his vest and timidly addressing the floor.

"You call this neatly ironed?"

The servant in question followed the curve of the young prince's hand that accusatively pointed at a slight crease on the lapel of his neatly pressed apparel.

"For-forgive me, Master. I shall find a replacement right away," he quickly apologized.

"I'll come with you! I don't have any time to spare; my friends could appear at any time now! And if they find me unacceptably dressed, I could become the laughing stock for the whole evening!" Cogsworth heard the young Prince snarl at him. With the tail of his eyes, he saw the angry, young man growl dangerously as he kicked the leg of the chair and his bedroom armoire, expressing his mounting frustration as he strode the length of the room. Cogsworth felt sorry for the inanimate objects in the Prince's bedroom for having to endure his constant, impulsive abuse.

"Could you _please_ pick up your pace!" came the imperious voice, scolding Cogsworth from behind. The shocked servant nearly stumbled over his own feet before gearing up his speed and rocketing towards the laundry room. He heard his Master muttering something along the lines of " _slow coach_!" as he stomped along behind him.

The majordomo had no direct response to his master's insult besides commanding his legs to move faster. He was certain any suggestion, however positive if Prince Adam was in a foul mood, could truly end up with his head on the guillotine and stuck up on one of the turrets as a replacement for the broken gargoyles.

Mrs. Potts was tidying up a mountain of laundry when the panicked majordomo hurled himself inside the room.

"Ooofff…!" she exclaimed as Cogsworth nearly knocked over the pile of neatly ironed clothes, thankfully her excellent reflexes expeditiously prevented the avalanche of clothing from happening. Mrs. Potts glared. "What do you think you are…-!" but she withdrew her annoyed look when she saw Cogsworth's blanched face, chest rising and falling rapidly, and the blanket of sweat covering his forehead (which began to descend towards his face before his handkerchief swiftly intervened).

"Lapel…" he mentioned between gasping inhales. "Another...one," he managed to say. "Prince Adam… lapel. Hurry up," he finished, perching his weight on the doorframe as he marshaled his energy back.

Understanding his request, Mrs. Potts skillfully plucked one white object from the stack and handed it over to him. "Oh, being demanding again is he?" she whispered, inspecting the almost invisible crease on the object in her hand.

The majordomo replied with an explosive sigh. "I think today isn't my lu…-" Cogsworth's words were left hanging when he heard indignant footfalls rapidly approaching the room. "I better go," and he absconded expeditiously.

At the same time, upstairs, Louis Philippe was having a moment with his wife, Marie-Therese of Anjou.

Their marriage was far from a love story, in stark contrast, it was a great tragedy. To save her family from disgrace and homelessness, Marie had agreed to marry the cold and much older Louis Philippe, the Prince of Conde who was famous for his blatant infidelities, deceitfulness and incurable drinking habit.

Despite her unhappy marriage, Marie thrived, becoming a fashion icon, a shrewd political operator, and a darling in her socialite circle and later on - a doting mother. She endured the Prince's constant physical and verbal abuse, relenting on his orders, However, after she gave birth to the long-awaited male heir - a healthy, intelligent and handsome Prince Adam Dieudonné - which as the name suggest, was a son given by God. Foreseeing her duty as done, Marie wished to put an end to her suffering and drafted a divorce proposal.

"You actually thought I'd agree to this?" the Prince's satirical laugh reverberated like a thunderclap against the stillness of the room. "That I'd let you free? You're an idiot!"

Very deliberately, he tore the divorce papers in half, then in half again. Without taking his gaze from his wife's stricken face, he opened his fingers and let the ragged strips fall. "Just because you have bore me a son doesn't mean you are free to do whatever you like!" he spat venomously.

Yes, that was a wistful thought. Marie had always hoped that once she gave him a son, she would gain his favor and in time, the Prince would cherish her and treat her with respect and dignity, perhaps even leaving all his other lovers and devoting his affection solely to her, alas that was far too much to ask.

"Don't forget that I own you!"

Marie heard his words, but they seemed to have no meaning. All she could hear was the sound of paper ripping. All she could see were the broken wings of the divorce appeal fluttering to the floor. Three years, numerous lawyers, countless court orders and every franc she'd saved and borrowed, and he'd led her on like a calf to the slaughter, made her think she could buy her freedom and flee from her torturous life if she made just this one more concession. Oh, God. Her stomach twisted. She couldn't seem to breathe.

"And you are crazy enough to request access to visit _my_ son?! How dare you!" he scoffed bluntly. "What man would still value you, listen to you or think highly of you? You are a daughter of a duke who was deeply strangled in debt, squandering his family's inheritance, shameful and undignified enough to sell his own daughter to sate another man's carnal needs," he sneered in abusive tones as he circled around her like a lion stalking its prey. "You are who you are now, dressed in an extravagant gown, respected and esteemed because of who? Me! It is all thanks to me!"

Blessing or curse, Marie was painfully aware that her unparalleled beauty had ensnared the Prince's lustful attention - the same beauty that had saved her father from a life of imprisonment and bankruptcy. Her flawless, fair skin contrasted nicely with her long, golden locks. Her tight figure sculpted with gentle curves around her waist and adorned with a pair of exquisite breasts. Not to mention her perfect exhibition of ladylike elegance and femininity as she glided across the dance floor was flawless - the fruitful result of years of relentless practice.

Instantly enraptured with her striking appearance, the Prince of Conde had made a proposal to her indebted father, offering money her family desperately needed for her virginity and freedom.

"Without me you would be a useless homeless peasant, living in the streets with drug addicts and beggars and roaches on the rugs. Or perhaps enslaving yourself in a brothel - a dump fit only for whores like you! Do you understand?!"

"I am not a whore!" Marie insolently glared back. Somehow, her act of impertinence only amused her husband.

"Good…" he drawled calmly. "Now. Show me what a good, dedicated _wife_ you are," came his suggestive whisper, clasping his hands on the bands of his breech, skillfully unbuttoning it. He watched with savage satisfaction as her face went bone-white at the implication. He snatched her waist and pinned her hard to the wall, an evil smirk growing in size as he watched her struggle futilely.

"Don't touch me, you evil bastard!"

Her angry voice seemed to serve as a catalyst and aroused him even more. He hiked up her billowing skirts, and ripped the back of her dress, peeling the sleeve off her shoulder in one sure, brutal move.

"I want to see you _try_ ," he hissed mockingly between gritted teeth. Despite being firmly incapacitated, Marie remained resolutely defiant until the door burst opened revealing their twelve-year-old son, Adam, heaving as he barged into the room, inspecting the source of the ruckus.

"Maman! What happened?!" followed by his horrified gasp upon seeing his mother immodestly wrapped only in her corset, her face contorted in pain while her father was roughly charging himself on her.

Behind him, Cogsworth screeched to a halt as he managed to catch up with the young Prince. "Master, wait for…-" _Sacrebleu!_ His eyes nearly left their sockets, realizing the inappropriate moment they had come to interrupt. The palace's majordomo was left speechless, jaw hanging open, expression aghast and positively disgusted, however he respectfully retreated to the threshold of the door without saying a word, hiding himself in the shadows.

"Adam… leave us. Now!" came his mother's quivering voice between shallow gasps and hurtful whimpers. The Prince only briefly glared in his son's direction yelling an indignant "GET OUT!" before returning to rip off another layer of his wife's sophisticated dress.

The more assertive servant, Lumière teleported to the scene and automatically barred the prince from intervening, but Adam pushed his hands away angrily."No! Don't try to stop me!"

"Adam, obey now!" Marie asserted, gravely aware of her garment progressively leaving her body as her husband's hungry fingers continued to violate every last inch of her dignity.

"Lumière! Take him… Please!" she commanded, knowing the timid Cogsworth probably wouldn't stand a chance against Adam's stubbornness and indomitability. The lanky young maitre'd who had been observing the exchange mutely by the door, stepped forwards and confidently gripped Adam's arm, nudging Cogsworth to help tame the lashing young lad.

"No...Papa…! You are hurting Maman, please stop… Papa!"

"Master, we must go," Lumière advised, his voice was calm and his expression inscrutable even though his heart shredded to pieces watching the fear, anger, and despair flash in the Prince's innocent eyes.

After Lumière successfully dragged the Prince out of the room, Cogsworth deftly closed the door.

"Papa! Papa! Open the door! Please let me in!" Adam thrashed convulsively, pounding his angry fists on the bedroom's thick door, only to hear his voice bounce back at him against it solid girth. "Please don't hurt Maman! Please! Papa! I beg you…! Leave her alone!"

"Master, please. You are going to hurt yourself," Lumière offered gently. "Let's go to your bedroom; I'll read you some of your favorite books." Deep down, Lumière knew how absurd his suggestion must have sounded, even to his own ears. But how could he console an innocent child who had just witnessed his father molesting and defiling his own mother? Treating her as though she was a piece of trash unworthy of his mercy?

"No! Let me go! I must help Maman!" His desperate appeal rang painfully in the servants' ears as they dragged the frenzied young Prince away from his mother's bedroom.

Inside, Marie could hear Adam's hysterical cry resonating against the tall columns of the corridor before dissolving in the distance. Her body was trembling, almost shaking, and she stared blindly at the thick, intricately carved door for seconds - before she realized that she was trying to sob, but could make no sound, instead, only unsolicited tears fell down her cheeks, to her bare chest.

 _Oh, my precious son…_

Adam's pitiful wail and pleading voice still roared in her ears, cutting like a sword through her heart. She ached for him - her sweet, innocent child had to witness her unhappy relationship with his abusive father and became the victim of their constant disagreement. Her mental suffering was so intense that she barely felt the physical pain when her vile husband shoved her roughly on the bed and forced himself on her.

 _Adam, please forgive me…_


	3. A Moment Last Forever

Shout out to Caterina A. DiCosmo, it appears like FF net hides your email from me. You can find me in Tumblr, 3431jessica Thanks!

* * *

As a result of her contemptuous attempt to file a divorce, Marie was virtually under house arrest for a number of years during her husband's rule. It was then, Marie surrendered onto her fate and learned that she wouldn't get what she wanted by defying her husband's order or challenged his draconian affinity with her disobedience. Eventually, Marie decided to stop pursuing her divorce request, knowing it would do more harm than good, especially for Adam.

During those years, as a means of distraction from her unhappy marriage, Marie hosted a lot of fancy balls, extravagant soiree, donning herself with expensive raiments, exquisite jewelry and spending the evening indulging herself in gambling and drinking in excess. Her friends - duke, duchess, and emissaries provided her with an illusion of happiness and false assurance that other people saw her as one fortunate girl who married well.

" _Bon Dieu_ , Marie, did Prince Louis-Philippe buy you that amazing masterpiece? Ugh, pardon me… but may I…-?" said one of the guests, her hand itching for access.

" _Sien sûr,_ Amelie," Marie replied her politely, inching closer so the curious lady could take a closer look.

" _Sacrebleu_ , this is exquisite! No one in the province wears pink diamonds," Amelie's curious eyes trailing in envy at the large glittering rocks around Marie's slender neck. "You are incredibly lucky! Never in a million years, my Jean could afford to buy me this."

Just an earshot away, Adam overheard the conversation between his mother and Lady Amelie Blaise d'Abbadie, the Countess of Marsan. Despite his lips twitching to oppose the Lady's inaccurate opinion about his father, Adam remained politely silent. He knew, in the party like this, his mother could be a different person - the person she dreamt to be - unburdened and carefree. She would emerge in her best outfit that flaunted all her amazing curves. She would shower her guest with gifts, laid out a generous spread of food and hosted the best and most entertaining parties. She would proudly introduce Adam to the crowds as the most promising new generation of rulers in Conde, impressing her royal friends, ambassadors, and emissaries of her fortuitous fate of owning all the things a woman could possibly dream of having.

But when the party was over, and all the world drifted away, when it's just the two of them, side by side, Marie didn't have to pretend how happy and cheerful she had always been. It was then her dream of the perfect world of all things - immaculate and bright - returned to its ugly reality - her life was broken and doomed. It was never the wealth, fame, and status that she cherished - deep down, Marie's only consolation was the fact that she could see Adam grew up into an intelligent, witty and poised young man.

"I don't understand," Adam said one day, leaning next to his mother on the chaise lounge in her bedroom.

"Don't understand what, my dear?" she asked.

"Why all these people appraised Papa so much… I mean - he is, so...so wick..-"

His words stopped right there because his mother placed her finger on his lips.

His father's constant affair and involvement with various women weren't anything new to Adam. It was the fact that he had learned to live with since his early childhood. As long as the young prince could recall, despite his father's lack of faithfulness to his marriage vow, his mother always tolerated his scandalous action by quoting 'it is what expected by men in his rank.' But, since that day when Adam witnessed his father hurting his mother deliberately - Adam felt an ultimate betrayal and mounting hatred.

"Sweetheart, this is how the world works," Marie sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, the aspiring person are those with good looks, wealth, power and status. That's in itself equates happiness and freedom," she explained. "I mean, look at me. If I weren't pretty - I would be homeless by now. Your father agreed to bail all my family's debt, bought the estate so your grand-père still could live there, and all - was because he wanted to get my hand in marriage."

Adam considered his Mother's words. He acknowledged that her beautiful, enticing appearance and eloquence were the qualities that had brought her all the luxuries that otherwise would never be hers. On the other hand, his father - with his affluence and power - had bought the right to do whatever he pleased, no matter how scandalous - to Adam, it seemed like other people would be willing to shut their eyes, mouth, and ears for money and perhaps the rest did it out of fear.

As for Marie, assuaging her guilt and failure of giving her beloved son the fun loving environment that he needed to grow up, she ventured on different direction - by spoiling the young prince with everything she could afford to give. There was simply no wish that she would decline. She showered him with toys, expensive raiments, her devoted attention, time and affection - all in abundance.

"Maman, if Papa doesn't want to divorce you, why don't you… _escape_? Run away somewhere far. Isn't it Uncle Hubert still have that Chateau in Provence that he occupies only in summer?" the boy said one day.

"Adam, my dear. It isn't that simple, for what would I be - should your father mad at me and deny me coming to see you?" she replied simply, voice long-suffering.

It was clear to Adam that _he_ was the only reason his mother endured her unhappy marriage, condoning her husband's infidelity and brutal treatment. Truthfully, Adam wanted to consider suggesting both of them ran away together, but he reflected of the grim prospect of how his father would abuse his mother even more if he found them.

Months later, Adam's biggest nightmare began to transpire into reality when his mother's unending suffering began to take tolls on her health. Despite living in the extreme comfort, plentiful food, having all material wishes she could possibly think of and receiving the best of care - her health continued to deteriorate.

"Maman…I wish...someday, I could make you happy," Adam said one day. They were spending leisure time together, basking in the warm afternoon sun.

Her son's earnest plea scraped the wall of her heart. Marie could only exhale as she tugged the perturbed child in her arms. "Don't you worry about me, _cherie_ …My younger days are gone. It's too late for me," she replied, unsolicited tears balancing on the corner of her eyes. "But you…- you have plenty ahead of you," she said. "Do you ever heard a poem called… How does a moment last forever?"

Adam shook his head.

"Ok, now listen to this."

 _How does a moment last forever?_

 _How can a story never die?_

 _It is love we must hold onto_

 _Never easy, but we try_

 _Sometimes our happiness is captured_

 _Somehow, our time and place stand still_

 _Love lives on inside our hearts and always will_

 _Maybe some moments weren't so perfect_

 _Maybe some memories not so sweet_

 _But we have to know some bad times_

 _Or are lives are incomplete_

 _Then when the shadows overtake us_

 _Just when we feel all hope is gone_

 _We'll hear our song and know once more_

 _Our love lives on_

Marie patted her son's hand gently."Remember that I love you, Adam," she said softly. But, what was meant to console his spirit, instead broke Adam's heart into pieces. "Nothing lasts forever, my precious son… but I promise - my love for you would live on."

They spent the night outside, sitting on the balcony of the West Wing, leafing through the memories of his childhood. The tranquil sound of the brook and the calming serenade of the winds contradicted Adam's somber mood. He helplessly sank on his seat, placing his head on his mother's lap. They stayed like that for a long while. Marie ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his head affectionately, while Adam tried his best not to weep.

* * *

"Papa!"

Five-year-old Belle blustered as she leaped from her mother's lap, running enthusiastically to welcome Maurice who just came home.

"Hi my little rose, how are you?" Maurice planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, before approaching his wife and kissed her affectionately on her cheek, whispering softly. "And how _this_ princess doing?"

"Never been better," Estelle replied, only to be interjected by Belle. "Papa! Maman just told me her journey from Ireland to Britannia before arriving in Paris. She said she saw a cathedral way bigger than Notre dame! But that's not the most fascinating, Maman said she visited London, she saw this super big clock in the middle of the city! And she had a chance to be on the ship to cross the channel, isn't that just...just…. _amazing_?"

Maurice could only smile watching his little daughter gushing ecstatically. "Is that what you wanted to do when you are older, Belle? To travel and see the world?"

"Yes! I want an adventure in the great wide somewhere, just like Maman did," Belle replied, her voice firm.

"Well, then I may have just the thing for you," Maurice smiled meaningfully, before pulling a book from his satchel.

"What is it?" Belle's expressive eyes barely contained the excitement as they followed the curve of Maurice's hand closely.

"This is a map," Maurice explained, opening the book. "It had all the exotic place around the world and told you fascinating fact about it." He flipped the page to Paris, France. "Here is Paris, where we lived. Not very far from here is Chateau de Versailles, where the royal lives." His finger pointed to the illustration of majestic building that adorned with various carving and gilded with gold.

"Where did you get this book, Darling?" came his wife's voice, equally fascinated admiring the book. The thick book was engraved with fancy looking calligraphic letters, bounded neatly with tan calfskin cover. Just by seeing the craftsmanship, Estelle could tell the book would be quite costly to buy.

"Oh, yes… I haven't told you. You remember Monsieur Francois?"

"Oh, the man with a bushy mustache who worked for Prince of Conde?"

Maurice nodded. "Yes, him. He was so pleased with the portrait he had commissioned me, and as an extra reward he gave me this book, I've told him Belle loves seeing places and fascinated with books."

"That's very kind of him," Estelle remarked while softly stroking Belle's hairs. The girl sat on her lap, eyes fixated to the book firmly, trying to absorb as many information as possible. An alternate 'uhhh' and 'ahhh' escaped her lips, and a heartbreakingly cute smile seemed to be permanently tattooed on her face. Belle was obviously in her element, with her eyes dancing along her curious fingers as she leafed the book. Estelle almost felt sorry to witness her little girl's genuine excitement over something that her young mind could barely digest. How she wished someone could teach her how to read, to explore the world of knowledge - unfortunately for them, neither herself nor Maurice was a proficient reader.

"Well, he has lots," replied Maurice, and the statement enough to distract Belle from her deep concentration.

" _Lots_?" Belle suddenly inserted, eyes blinked innocently. "Like…five? Ten?" Belle displayed her fingers, it was the only number she could imagine 'lots' would be like.

Maurice chuckled in amusement. "No Belle, he has more than hundreds."

"Hundreds?" the girl cocked her head, bewildered. She had a hard time visualizing how 'hundreds' may look like.

"Yes, he has all sort of kinds of books. Some tell you stories, some teach you how to count, some explain how human body work, some teach you how to speak in other languages."

"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, both captivated and amazed.

Since girls in France, especially from their social class, weren't expected to be educated, Belle hardly knew how to read and count. Despite her interest, she was pretty much illiterate and only knew as far as what her mother taught her.

"Hmm… he has books that could fill this room," Maurice rephrased with something Belle could understand.

"Oh wow! How could he has so many books?"

"Yes, he is the private tutor of the young Prince of Conde, he bound to have a lot of interesting books. Perhaps I can ask for his permission for you to join the next time I saw him. I am sure he wouldn't mind."

"Oh yes Papa, I would love that!"

* * *

Marie knew her days were numbered. Without her husband and Adam's knowledge, she requested to make a special painting of herself - her last gift for her son. Her venture to look for the suitable artist reached Monsieur Francois' ears, he gladly recommended Maurice for the task.

"That's an excellent coincidence, Your Grace. This weekend, Monsieur Beaumont is going to come to my house to deliver his work. I will mention your intention to engage him then," offered Francois, lifting his hat and curtsied before he excused himself.

"Very well, Monsieur. _Merci_."

* * *

Notes: In my story, I assume Adam is a lot older than Belle, so that when he was struck with the spell for a few years, in accordance with BATB 2017, he didn't age.


	4. The Invitation

The day that Belle had anticipated for a long time had finally arrived.

"Papa, hurry up!" Belle pranced enthusiastically, fetching her father a pair of shoes and throwing his coat together with his art supplies.

"Calm down, _ma petite_. We don't want to get this painting damaged," Maurice chuckled in amusement, glancing over Belle. He carefully placed the wrapped canvas inside his bag.

"But the carriage is already outside!" Belle insisted, peering by the room's fogged window to catch a glimpse of two footmen chatting idly as they waited. Belle was ready nearly an hour ago, scampering around their little apartment, dashing feverishly to make sure she and her papa had everything they needed for the two-hour journey to the other side of Paris.

"Belle, sit down next to me. You could ruin your dress if you jump up and down like that," her mother advised, but Belle barely could contain her excitement, and her unwilling ears had selectively ignored her mother's counsel.

Ten minutes later, they were on their way. Belle could hardly sit still on the horse drawn carriage that had fetched them that afternoon. The prospect of visiting Monsieur Francois's residence on the outskirt of Paris was almost like a trip visiting some exotic faraway place outside France. Belle felt her chest fluttering in thrilling anticipation as the horseman opened the door for her.

She was greeted with an astounding sight of elaborate luxury. The ceiling and the inner wall of the carriage were made of smoothest wooden lacquer, weaved with delicate carving. The cushion on her seat felt a lot plusher and softer than her own pillow at home; must be the expensive goose down - so her father mentioned in hushed tones. And as a final touch to conceal the secrecy of important passengers inside, the small windows of the carriage were framed with gold colored jacquard embroidered with contrasting vermilion thread. Belle could only gape in astonishment in the impeccable display of grandeur, and her papa told her - this was merely the tip of the iceberg.

The carriage cut through the heart of Paris. The amazing scenery of Notre Dame, Sainte-Chapelle, Versailles, river Seine and Place de la Concorde flashed in between astronomic numbers of fancy looking houses. As they moved towards the center of the city, the towering architecture disappeared in exchange of scattered bungalows. The density of man-made structures began to dwindle, and Belle could see paddock peppered with cows and sheep, gentle rolling hills, and a farm field dotted with lavender blossoms.

"We are almost here Monsieur," announced the footman, halting the carriage outside a tall iron fence with an arching gate and long gravel pathway. The land around it flourished with lush grassland and wildflowers. Belle's eyes trailed to the solitary hill where an imposing mansion stood. The beautiful architecture was encased with the grove of blooming cherry trees, well-cultivated flower beds conveniently enjoying the view of a distant river.

It was a perfect portrayal of an idyllic life in the country.

The carriage finally came to a full stop outside the great establishment. A sleek man with a tray in his hand opened the door and led Belle and Maurice into the vestibule of the house.

"Bonjour Monsieur Beaumont! Please do come in!" he greeted.

Another man appeared, about a decade older than Belle's father and wearing an expensive looking coat, decorated with lace and fancy buttons. He smiled as he welcomed them. Belle could see his thin lips hiding under his curling mustache, His thinning silvery hair was tied neatly with a matching ribbon. On his nose rested a circular frame spectacle, partially concealing his cordial eyes that stared at Belle with poorly hidden interest. Monsieur Francois certainly didn't quite fit the impression of how school teachers should be, especially those she had seen illustrated in her storybook: stern, grave and overbearing.

"Merci, Monsieur," Maurice took off his hat and bowed slightly. "This is Belle, my daughter," he introduced, placing his hands on Belle's shoulder.

"Ah… Belle, what a suitable name! Your papa told me quite a little bit about you," responded the man, coming to one of his knees to come to her eye level, patting her head lightly. Belle immediately liked him. "I am Francois-Xavier Roth."

"Nice to meet you, Monsieur Francois. Oh yes…! Thank you for the book, I enjoyed it very much."

"I would've guessed so. If you like it, you may pick another one from my library," he generously offered, it was a tempting proposition Belle found it hard to decline.

They walked through a long parquet floored corridor before entering a large, stately room with a towering bouquet of lilies, a large crystal chandelier, large boudoir mirrors, numerous gilded settee, piles of ornate cushions and many paintings bedecking the wall, one of which was the piece Maurice had completed.

Belle could see her papa's gentle but skilful strokes in a modest but elegant twist of color, embodying the same man in front of her. Belle had to admit, her father did a magnificently great job in not just capturing the likeness, but the emotion that radiated from his aging countenance - his smile was both friendly, warm and graceful.

"Monsieur Beaumont, a few weeks ago, I met Lady Marie, the wife of Prince of Conde," Francois began, he invited Maurice and Belle to sit. "She is looking for an artist to do her self-portrait but isn't keen on using her royal contact. She wants someone new. Someone with novel ideas and style. And so, I've recommended you."

"Oh goodness, I don't know what to say! That's an honor!"

The older man smiled; faint lines forming around his mouth and under his eyes, adding the depth of character to his intriguing personality. "The honor is mine, Monsieur. Your work is truly worth the time and money, and it's time for a great artist like you to receive the recognition you deserved."

"Merci beaucoup, Monsieur… I…-!" Maurice's voice faded into the depth of his mind, drowning in his thoughts.

"Oh, and I would like to take your daughter to pick another book before we inspect the other completed masterpiece of yours," Francois grinned, gazing pointedly at the rectangular bag that obscuring the secret beneath.

"That's terribly kind, but Sir…-"

Maurice's words was silenced by Francois' immediate retribution. "I insist," the enigmatic tutor quipped and in turn looking at Belle. "Shall we?" he said, leading the way.

The delicate rustle of turning pages and shifting fabric greeted them as Monsieur Francois pushed the heavy double doors and revealed the secret hidden inside. The room was spacious. Its ceiling was high, adorned with massive chandeliers rooting themselves on the intricately carved ceiling. Quite a few cabinets were filled with books. There were more individual shelves next to the fireplace, a small cabinet under the table, even the rack by the door which again encumbered with books…. The room was, in essence, dense with books!

 _Is this….a library?_ Belle's jaw dropped. She had never seen so many books in one place before.

When they arrived, an old man with a large magnifying glass, a quill and a pot of ink was sitting by the corner of the room in front of his bureau.

"This is Monsieur Dubois, my assistant. His job is to keep this room tidy and acquired any other good books, cataloging each of them and replaced them if I happened to lost them, or given my only copy to my student," he chuckled, his assistance curtly nodded towards their direction before resuming his work.

"Oh… there is...so many books! I don't know what to choose." Belle swept her sight, scanning the collections of treasures around her.

"Does your mother read to you at home?" Monsieur Francois asked.

"No, she doesn't know how to read, Monsieur," Belle admitted.

"Never mind then. But, would _you_ like to learn to read?"

Belle's heart gave a traitorous leap at the offer. "Oh, I would love to!" she blustered, but soon realized she had to ask her father's permission. "May I, Papa?" she whispered lowly.

But before Maurice could respond, Francois came with a lucrative offer. "I am off every summer when the young prince takes his vacation, so… when I am at home, you can come around every day and I can teach you."

"Monsieur Francois, that is very kind of you, but I wouldn't be able to…-"

"I'll do it for free - Monsieur Beaumont. I much rather teach keen, enthusiastic student than one uninterested, whiny nobility that only did so because his parents hired me."

Maurice spontaneously gasped at the statement. How could the gentleman who was barely a friend willingly do so much for him? "Oh, Monsieur! I...I don't know what to say…- Thank you, that is terribly kind of you."

"That is settled then!"

Thus that summer, little Belle spent most of her day at Monsieur Francois's house. The old tutor loved her curious mind, her thirst for knowledge and her resolute attitude - which like a rare gem even among his other more senior students. In a nutshell, Belle was a pleasure to teach: she was bright, industrious, and persistent. When she was taking a break, she would run around in the mansion's vast garden, frolicking with Noir, Monsieur Francois' terrier and her mother, while her father and her teacher had an idle chat, drinking wine and basking in the sun. It was definitely the summer she would never forget.

"Belle," Monsieur Francois called her. It was the last day of summer holiday and today Belle's lesson automatically concluded until the next year. "You've learned well this summer, and thus… I would like to give you a gift. Consider this as something that would keep you occupied until we resume our lesson next year.

"But, Monsieur, you've given me two books so far…. And I haven't given you any…-"

"Oh yes you do!" The old man clipped her sentence, shaking his head. "You made me a lovely bouquet, baked me a tray of fresh madeleines, and… you, your maman and your papa had kept me accompany - making this large house feels less empty. Haven't you ever heard this saying? Little things become great when done with love."

Belle winced and smiled, looking slightly abashed. Her teacher was certainly good at exaggerating her accomplishment. The above-mentioned flower bouquet was a _rustic_ wildflower arrangement that Belle had plucked from the field behind the house. The madeleines were mostly baked by her mother, but Monsieur Francois insisted that her little help mixing the ingredient was what made them tasted exceptional because it was the intention that counted.

"Therefore, I would like to present you with this." Without preamble, he deposited a book right on Belle's small hand, which immediately jerked on unexpected load. She studied her newly acquired treasure scrupulously. The volume was thick and heavy with content. This time round, the book didn't bear the same fancy semblance as the other two she had, in contrast, it looked unsophisticated and plain. The cover was a dusty shade of blue, the only picture she could find inside was a watercolor illustration of a castle with a meadow and a man dressed in a simple, dark colored raiment, standing by the wall and talking to a maiden in a quaint blue dress.

"It's quite an uninteresting looking cover," Belle heard Monsieur Francois commenting. "But, I promise you would be deeply beguiled by its content. Imagine, far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, and…. _anything_ that could excite you. And if you have practiced enough, you can even read this to your mother. This book will carry you to a fantastical adventure far away!" advertised the old man. "Your imagination would be its limit."

Subsequently, Monsieur Francois leafed to the first page and hovered his finger on the title, wordlessly coaxing Belle to read.

"P-..pree-prince… in… dis….-"

"Disguise," Francois finished for her. "That means he is masquerading himself and pretending to be someone else," he explained coherently. The back of the cover was modestly printed with a small inscription, bearing the name of the author and a slogan, written in italics. _"For real beauty is found within."_

"Yes, my maman would love this!" Belle gushed, pressing the book tightly to her chest. A broad grin plastered across her face imagining sitting on her bed and the two of them would be drifted into the land of thrilling adventure. "Merci, Monsieur!"

Just as Belle thought her dream couldn't get any better, two weeks later, an elegant looking envelope sealed with a silk ribbon with golden trimming arrived in their small apartment. The letter bore a royal crescent with a fancy calligraphic emblem of the Prince of Conde's initial.

"What is it, Papa?" Belle inquired, her eyes never left the envelope for a moment. She observed intently as her father made a neat incision on its edges to reveal a letter. The paper was thick and scented like an expensive cologne. Belle could feel her heart racing in sheer tension of anticipation.

"It's the formal invitation from Lady Marie, the wife of Prince of Conde!" Maurice announced aloud, with an accompanying smile of pride. "She wants me to come to the Chateau to paint a portrait of her, and she had graciously permitted both of you to tag along!"

As soon as the news reached their ears, Belle leaped onto him for a hug, shouting something incomprehensible while Estelle landed a light kiss her husband's cheek. "Oh, Maurice, that's….that's wonderful news!"

* * *

Notes: So, that's how Belle learned to read! Sorry it took me so long to draft this chapter. Some of you who wondered when Belle is going to meet with Adam, I initially planned it for this chapter, but it gets too long and too many things happening all at once, so I decided to push it to the next chapter. If you remember in Batb 1991, the book with dusty blue cover was Belle' favorite story - you can check on google and you will find out the picture of the girl illustrated on her book looked very much like herself.

Thank you to civilwarrose for her beta.


	5. Belle and Adam

After a long journey that felt like eternity, the carriage that took Belle, Maurice and Estelle finally arrived at its destination.

" _Bienvenue à Château de Condé_ ," the footmen declared solemnly as he opened the carriage door.

The castle garden was covered with an expansive stretch of land, enclosed by a small forest and a meadow filled with flowers. In the middle of summer everything was beautifully in bloom, the fragrant scent heavy in the air. The castle itself was an imposing structure surrounded by labyrinth of ornamental topiary. The pale light of afternoon sun bathed its wall in golden aura, adding to its overall grandeur.

The Chateau's magnificence made Monsieur Francois' mansion appear humble and plain in comparison.

A flashy, debonair looking man with a distinct regional French accent welcomed and escorted them inside. They stepped into a large room with a cluster of settees, a few crystal chandelier, and massive tapestries. It was extraordinarily lavish and elegant - a boastful display of wealth and position. While Maurice waited for to his royal client, Estelle decided it was best to take Belle to the back of the property so their presence wouldn't intervene with his job.

A lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. Potts, gladly showed Estelle and Belle the garden marquee, prepared some tea, light bites and some girl's toys she could find around the castle.

They were soon immersed in pleasant conversation that made the time flew by. Belle decided to explore the garden on her own, with the promise she won't wander far from her mother's sight. With her mother's consent, Belle went off to check the spice garden, which according to Mrs. Potts had grown most comprehensive kinds of spices in the area. Then she ventured into the Orangerie, admiring a few exotic blooms she had never seen in her life.

Belle must have been completely immersed in her wanderlust, because she didn't realize that her mother's and Mrs. Potts' voices were completely unheard and the marquee was nowhere to be seen.

I'll better find them, Belle thought. But something…. or more like…. _someone_ , captured her attention.

A lady emerged from the castle door. She was extremely beautiful; her slender figure was wrapped in deep turquoise organza. Another woman with less striking appearance stood next to her, carrying a lace parasol sheltering her mistress' delicate figure from the harsh scrutiny of the summer sun.

Belle thought that the lady in turquoise looked like an outlandish fairy from some of the books in Monsieur Francois's library. Despite the ensemble of luxury, she appeared feeble and anguished.

Belle studied the woman, and soon realized she was caught staring openly.

Marie came out after a few hour's session with Maurice. With her health deteriorating, she found the simple task of posing for the portraiture exhausting, even sitting and holding her posture.

"Who are you, little girl?" Belle heard the woman spoke.

Belle was quick to apologize for her disrespectfulness. "I am sorry… I don't mean to…-"

"That is all right, child, don't be afraid. I know you are just quelling your curious mind. Come and sit with me." Marie invited.

Belle was left paralyzed for a moment to accept words of encouragement instead of reproach.

She slowly drew closer. The scent of florals approached her nose as the lady invited her to sit on the bench next to her. Despite her pale face paint, Belle could see the dark circles under her eyes, the exhaustion, and the tightness in her shoulders as though they were laden with immense weight.

"What's your name?" the lady asked.

"Belle…. Belle Beaumont," Belle replied, smiling hesitantly.

Marie observed her and immediately noticed some lines of resemblance from Maurice's complexion; the curvy eyebrows and warm smile that graced her little lips.

"Oh, what a beautiful name, as beautiful as you," Marie complimented. A smile broke her deceptively red but frozen lips. "I am Marie, the lady of the house."

Belle suppressed the desire to gasp when the lady casually addressed herself as 'Marie.' Recalling the name on the invitation from the palace sent to her father, Belle was certain this woman was the person who had requested her father's presence. She was the wife of Prince of Conde!

" _Merci,_ Madame." Belle politely replied, averting her gaze to focus on the lady's extraordinary gown. But something in the lady's eyes that captured Belle's inquisitiveness, inviting her to steal a glimpse of that face again.

Despite her exquisite dress, unrivaled beauty, a wonderful castle to call home, a respectable family and flawless heritage, her eyes writhed with insufferable pain.

"Madame, may I ask. Are you…. are you sad?" Belle glided her eyes over her, drifting down to the lady's frame that immediately tensed with sentiment, surprisingly apprehensive for a woman who had such an extroverted, exuberant lifestyle and blessed with privilege.

"Do I look sad to you, child?" There was a strange emotional fragility in her voice that Belle couldn't understand why.

"Yes."

With a pause, Marie closed her eyes, took another breath, and turned to face her.

"Let not my sorrow concern you, _ma petite_ ," she replied enigmatically before cringing at the memory of the uncomplicated journey that pierced her heart to its core.

Belle refrained from offering her hand to comfort the lady.

"Well, is there anything I can do to….help?" The words tumbled from Belle's lips unwittingly. The proposal sounded so ridiculous even to Belle's unsophisticated mind. What kind of assistance required by a noblewoman as affluent and powerful as a wife as the Prince of Conde herself?

"No, _Cherie_ … Oh! Such a sweetheart you are," Marie replied Belle with as a sigh, tossing the sentences one at a time, softly. "Indeed there are things that money, fame, and status could never buy," she added, reminiscing how her husband's leaning into her, slipping lust-driven words into her ears. How her body immediately contorted to avoid his and yet helpless to reject. She was never a subject of his love, only an object of his greed.

"Is there such... _things_?" Belle countered innocently. She couldn't imagine what kind of _things_ Marie was referring to.

"Yes, of course. In fact, perhaps you have it in abundance." A vast sadness threatened to collapse over her like sheets of rock, but Marie dismissed the sentiment with a flick of her hand.

Belle considered the Madame enigmatic answer. What possibly she owned in abundance and this rich lady had none? What could possibly make the lady discontented despite owning a castle (with its library), a throng of servants at her disposal and perhaps enough money to last her lifetime?

"I willing to share if… if I could," Belle proclaimed with reluctance.

"Oh no, don't let others took that gift away from you. It's priceless, more than my castle, my jewelry... Even cost more than my life!"

"So, you aren't happy living here?" Belle asked again cautiously, but couldn't hide her bewilderment.

"How anyone be happy if they aren't free?"

Belle was taken aback by her brief yet astute retaliation. Her eyes fixated unwittingly at the lady's poignant countenance as though trying to conjecture who or what had stolen her freedom.

"You appeared exhausted, Your Grace. Shall we go inside?" came the voice of the lady who had been standing there mutely, listening to their exchange. Marie nodded and obediently let her lady-in-waiting assisting her to walk inside.

The rest of the afternoon, Belle spent alone, continuing to explore the palace's ground, admiring the majestic grandeur of the structure and its well-maintained garden.

A half circular portion of the chateau attracted her attention. The structure was towering three or four levels above the ground, covered with a mullioned window decorated cleverly by alternating clear glass with its colorful counterparts.

Belle couldn't resist to come closer and peek inside. To her surprise, she saw books - walls and walls of them, covering the entire room, cramming its length and depth, filling the expanse of the room in every direction. It was so overwhelming! There must be…. thousands of books in there! There was even ladder to reach to the top shelf!

Belle was so engrossed adoring the magnificent sight that she neglected to pay close attention to her surrounding until came imperious voice scolding her from behind.

"What do you think you are doing? You impertinent girl!"

Astounded but acknowledging her disrespectful action, Belle quickly stood up, mouth ready to apologize. She was greeted with the unwelcoming glare of a young man. His haunting eyes stared at her accusingly. He was wearing a dark blue coat and powdered wig. He must be in his late teens, Belle speculated. His coat was impeccably pressed, peppered with tiny crystals which were sewn onto the fabric so finely, like sparkling constellations against the midnight sky. The cuffs and trim were embroidered with the finest silver thread, which glimmered under the perusal of sunlight.

But instead of feeling intimidated - the young man's amazing finery, striking appearance, and rude action served as a catalyst that ignited Belle's curiosity.

"Who…. who are you?" she asked impulsively, studying the poised, extremely proud looking bachelor with her analytical gaze.

For a split second, the young man appeared equally intrigued with her audacity, forwardness, and lack of decorum in addressing him. But his astonishment quickly smothered with a look of potent disgust as he surveyed Belle's plain, unrefined clothing which extrapolating someone clearly far below his rank.

He scoffed, tossing his head with bravado before replying her question with his. "How dare you speak to me like that? I am the prince here, and I answer to no one! Now, I must punish you for trespassing and snooping into _my_ library," he declared with his arrogant, oppressive voice.

Even at her tender age, Adam could see that the girl was beautiful indeed - in a way that seemed exotic to him. Her alabaster skin was clean, free from blemish and her teeth even and white. Her eyes and hair were the rare tone of darkest brown that he hardly encountered. He could see her gentle locks gleamed a few shifting highlights of a lighter shade. Her eyes stained with a slight hint of gray, and they widened and narrowed expressively as she looked at him. Her distinct appearance suggested that she might be of mixed heritage, deriving the best out of her parents, but Adam had never imagined any racial combination would produce such a profound effect.

A voice calling from a distance broke their unpleasant encounter.

"Belle! Belle...Oh, there you are!" Even from the end of the garden, Adam could see the silhouette of a slender, god-chiseled figure of a woman rushing towards their direction. Her raven black hair was long, framing her sharp, angular features. Her eyes were deep and hypnotic accented with matching arching eyebrows.

Right then, it was clear to Adam how the girl got her look.

"You are a gypsy!" he snorted in disgust, eyebrows were drawn together, lips pulling back, and his fists clenching in his attempt to not completely lose his temper. How dare a peasant, more so an outcast, wandering around in his castle grounds?

Belle could detect the repulsive edge of the prince's voice as he riveted his blue eyes. She knew how people, even in her own neighborhood, perceived her when they knew who her mother was.

"So what if I am?!" she snarled back, looking affronted. Her chest heaved from containing her anger mixed up with pent-up sobs. But she refused to show it, instead, she stared at him, eyes burning to match his, chin jutted out dangerously.

Again, Adam was dumbfounded by her naked disrespectfulness. The girl remained unfazed despite knowing who he was. No one had ever before defied, refuse or insolently challenged him point-blank. He couldn't fathom how a young girl owned such boldness and strength in mind, but that didn't stop him from yelling.

"You dirty peasant! You'll be sorry for your behavior!" Adam declared, barely controlling his poisonous voice. Truthfully, Adam had no personal reason for his stigmatizing treatment, he was just following the trend of general prejudice.

"And you! Someday you'll be sorry to call me that!" Belle challenged back.

Thankfully Estelle and Mrs. Potts arrived on time before the palpable tension turned into dire consequences. Estelle pulled Belle away, convulsively blabbering excuses and string of apologies towards the angry prince, while Mrs. Potts gently coaxed the fuming young man to leave the scene.

* * *

"Maman, why did you apologize? It's not my fault!" Belle defended as her mother ushered her to back to the marquee. An unpleasant memory of indignant strings of insult and hurtful words came into her mind. "He called me 'dirty peasant'," Belle reported on the way the prince addressed her.

For a long time, the gypsy in France had been viewed as useless vagabonds who practiced witchcraft and other unsettling things. They witnessed a rising tide of intolerance and, along with it, the rigorous and persistent use of real sanctions. And Estelle knew all too well how Maurice and Belle could end in real trouble if they weren't careful, but how could she impart this knowledge to her idealistic little girl who lived and adhered to her own principle?

Belle saw her mother sighed. "Belle, you must understand. He is _the_ prince, we are _his_ subjects and he could…-"

"But, I didn't do anything wrong, he did! And I won't apologize for a mistake I didn't do!" Belle argued insistently. Just because that man was a prince doesn't mean he could do all he pleased.

"Belle, you did peek into _his_ library," Estelle contended, and Belle fell silent. "And we are in _his_ chateau, this is _his_ garden, and while we are here… we must comply with _his_ rule. In fact, the whole province of Conde is under his father's order."

The melancholic silence stretched between them.

"It's…. It's so unfair," Belle exhaled in defeat. Her eyes dropped with her voice, but she knew her mother was right. However, how could a mean, spoilt scoundrel like that prince destined to govern over other people?

"Belle," her mother implored. "Just because the world around us is cruel, doesn't mean that you have to. Having a soft heart in a wicked world is a strength, not weaknesses."

"He was rude and immature!" Belle exclaimed in frustration before incoherent sobs strangled her lips.

When Estelle looked back at her daughter, Belle cut her eyes to the side, and that's when she realized that beneath the anger and the frustration her daughter was deeply disappointed.

"The true mark of maturity is when somebody hurts you, and you try to understand their situation instead of trying to hurt them back," Estelle said softly in a manner that wasn't patronizing."And hopefully someday, _one day_ , they will realize and decided to change," she finished.

As soon as her mother pulled her into her comforting arms, the floodgate was opened, and s Belle cried.

* * *

Note: I purposely used Belle's word in the movie: "How anyone be happy if they aren't free?"

Imagine that Marie told her this words and she remembered them right to the point when the Beast asked whether she could be happy living with him.

Also, a few days ago I read in interesting observation by two of the Batb's fandom expert TrudiRose and FairFacade in Bittersweet and Strange forum, stating that would it be making more sense that Belle left Paris as a child, and not as a baby? This resonated better with her song "This is the Paris of my childhood, these were the borders of my life...Easy to remember, harder to move on...Knowing the Paris of my childhood is gone". The lyrics made it sounded as though she remembered that she ever lived in Paris before. What do you think?

Also, I am interested for you girls to tell me, what do you think of the enchanted book in Batb 2017? Why didn't the Beast gave Belle the book and kept the mirror? That way, she would be able to visit him, and he would be able to see her, no?

Thanks to civilwarrose for her beta on this chapter.


	6. The Mysterious Bloom

A year later, war broke in France against its border country. The war resulted from the attempt of the Austrian Habsburgs to win back the rich province of Silesia, which had been wrested from them by Frederick the Great of Prussia during the War of the Austrian Succession. The squabbling parties attempted to draft a treaty.

Unfortunately, instead of relieving the tension, it caused discontent among the powers. It did nothing to allay the colonial rivalry between Great Britain and France.

The conflict stirred political imbalance within French monarchies. Drawing support from many of the royals' supporters who harbored social prejudice towards the Gypsies, the current ruler of the throne judged the Gypsies to be "racially inferior."

With defeats, famine and mounting debt greatly weakened the Kingdom and its subject; the Gypsies had become the scapegoats, easy targets of citizens' anger and unrelinquished frustration.

Initially, Maurice hid Estelle and Belle in their dinky apartment above the windmill, insistent that they should not see the light of day until the situation improving. However, with the prolonged war, imminent danger from missiles destroying the city of love, and the evacuation demand from the local authority, Estelle knew that Maurice would have to surrender to their fate.

"We can move to other countries!" Maurice insisted stubbornly. "Perhaps run away to Spain…? Or Portugal?"

Estelle sighed. "Maurice…."

They had this conversation many times over. With every financial means stretched beyond the limits, they already lost their home and most of their belongings, but still were quite fortunate not to starve. Migrating to other country wasn't an option for them.

"You have to tell the authority that I am here. If we reported voluntarily, there is a chance they would spare Belle from the ordeal," she implored.

"Estelle! That camp is a cursed place! It's a hell on earth! Haven't you heard all the nasty, gruesome story from people who managed to survive it?"

"You think I am that ignorant?!" Her voice raised in frustration, only to dwindle into emphatic softness when she saw a glimpse of hurt in his eyes. "Sorry, my darling. It's just…. As long as I am with you, both you and Belle are in danger. I beg you, please…. _understand_. Trust me, Maurice. It's for the best. It's better than three of us were thrown in prison or end up killed."

Unfortunately, the circulating rumor revealed their hiding place. The authorities demanded that Maurice take his wife and daughter to the camp before the guards removed them by force.

Even before he set foot beyond the gate, Maurice could smell death, destruction, and despair radiating from the camp. He wasn't even sure whether he should feel relieved or terrified seeing the place was invested with heavily armed soldiers. The humans who were forced to be there were not more than skeletons with skin barely clinging to their frail frames.

Maurice's chest tightened in fear over the fate of two people that meant the world to him. Estelle, on the other hand, remained unfazed, taking Belle by the hand as three of them embraced before the stern looking guards ended their moment of farewell.

The story of concentration camps for the outcast was proven not a myth. Its unfortunate inhabitants were forced to work day and night, with barely enough food and clean water. The unfavorable living conditions in the Gypsy compound lacked of sanitation, further contributing to the spread of infectious disease and epidemics - typhus, smallpox, and dysentery - which severely reduced the camp population.

Maurice was forced to leave his occupation and his love for painting and procured himself in the art of machinery in the army. His creative flair, his good eye for details, balanced with a pair of willing hand that able to work very carefully and methodically, helped him to excel in his new post as a mechanic. He was responsible for making sure the horse-driven carts were in an adequate condition to transport the crucial artilleries and their weapon to function perfectly.

Maurice was secretly hoping that everything would turn back to normal soon enough, especially when he heard a peace treaty had been signed months after he served in the army.

Unfortunately, fate had another plan. Estelle died in the camp merely a month before she and Belle were supposed to be released. As her final resting place, she was buried in the church ground where they previously got married.

A few months later, after the notorious Seven Years' War ended, Belle and Maurice returned to her grave for the first time. Like the day of burial, it was a beautiful, clear day, with the poplars above them were rich in autumn color.

 _"Someone once said, go too far from home and you will lose your roots. Kill too many people and you will forget yourself. If you die in battle, your life will sink into the ground like rain and vanish without a trace. If at that time, you fall in love with someone, hope will blossom again from the earth and embrace life with passion. For courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear."_

Maurice rested a simple bouquet of white lilies as Belle read out Estelle's favorite tale - the oriental ballad about a girl who boldly took her father's place in war. The blooms' scent was hanging in the air and filling the atmosphere with a poignant note. As Belle gazed down at the inhabited grave, everything still felt surreal.

She knelt next to the grave and her hand absently grazed the simple wooden plaque which already began to weather into the landscape, with a trail of wild roses growing above it. This was the only memorial her father could afford to mark her mother's last resting place. There was no fancy statue of a winged angel, no sophisticated calligraphic inscription, no flowers covered the mounded earth.

Nonetheless, it was a fitting monument to a life well lived, overflowed with joy and filled with laughter. It wasn't an inert headstone devoted to one's memory.

Maurice remembered his departed wife insisted. _"What finer legacy could you leave behind than our living memory itself? Our body may die, but our memory shall live forever."_ Her words echoed.

"Can't believe she's gone," Maurice remarked absently, even though deep in his heart he had conjectured Estelle's untimely and tragic death wasn't an unforeseen possibility. "But I guess this is life, we can't get all of our wishes." He couldn't hide the quivering of his voice and didn't bother trying. Belle reached his hand and squeezed it gently.

"I know you missed her every day, Papa," Belle responded, voice unperturbed and her face was suspiciously neutral even when deep inside her heart strangled with grief.

"Yes, of course…." Maurice said with a pause. "Of course I do. She is the only woman I ever loved."

"Don't forget about me," countered Belle's little voice. Somehow, Maurice could hear a smile out of it. "Someday, I will be a woman too, you know," she appended, doing a horrible impression of her mother's teasing voice.

Maurice slowly reached his finger to tilt Belle's well-defined chin. Undoubtedly, the atrocities of war had printed its marks in his daughter's features. Her fathomless eyes had lost its sparkle, they were dull with days of mourning and crusted with tears. Her cheek had lost its healthy glow, sinking into her face from weeks of hunger and malnourishment. Her hair wasn't as shiny or lustrous as it once was, replaced by a rough, ruddy color beaten into it from months of living in abandonment. But, beneath all the evidence of her suffering, he could still see the trace of Estelle's exquisite beauty and unyielding spirit.

"Of course you are, _ma petite_. You would be as lovely, kind and fearless as your mother."

What meant to be comforting words instead pierced her mind like an arrow. The nostalgic memory of both of her and her mother, huddling in the corner of the cold, crumbling structure of the concentration camp, wrapped in torn rags, desperately trying to find refuge and comfort in each other's arms.

The night was dark and cold, they were hungry and exhausted, but their heart was warm and full of love. It felt like just yesterday both of them still nestling in each other embrace, retelling the fictitious character's feat from their fading memory, reminiscing how their hero and heroine embroiled in thrilling adventures, heartbreaking tragedy, passionate romance and finally, a happy ending. That was the land of fantasy, where kindness rewarded and justice served, where happiness eventually came to those who patiently endured torment and unfairness. In contrast, the reality of life was nothing but a broken dream...

Belle cleared her throat, attempting to suppress the rising sob from her chest and withhold the forming water in her eyes from falling. She knew, exposing her anguish would only exacerbate her father's sorrow and adding to his mounting misery.

"You really think I could grow up to be like Maman?" she managed without a choke.

"I have never doubted it," Maurice replied, smiling.

Belle let a disapproving sound when her father's hand mussed her hair. "Papa, you sometimes forget that I am fourteen!" she said, pursing her lips into a fake pout but didn't try to stop her father's hand.

 _Fourteen_. Maurice contemplated. Sometimes, hardship and countless adversity made him losing sight on the life's perspective. Regardless of their affliction, he still had Belle, the priceless treasure of his life, who now had bloomed into a fair maiden with extraordinary beauty.

Maurice could well predict there would be a throng of bachelors knocking on his door, asking her hand in marriage as soon as she was on agreeable age to start a family.

"See you in a couple of months time, Maman," Belle whispered fervently as though the wooden plaque had ears. "I love you."

As both of them left, Agathe pulled the hood of her cloak and quietly emerged from the obscurity of the shrubbery. Carefully, she traipsed through the dense undergrowth and solemnly knelt beside Estelle's grave.

 _Anyone can love a rose, but it takes a great heart to include the thorns._

She sighed to herself as she plucked a stalk of rose that grew around the epitaph. The solitary rosebud magically gleamed in her hands before unraveling its wonderful crimson petals into full bloom.

 _And anyone who had learned to hate can be taught to love... -_ she thought as she stored the rose under the concealment of her clock and left, heading to Villeneuve.

* * *

As the need of his expertise was no longer required, Maurice was soon relinquished from his position as a mechanic. However, during the period of economic recovery, he found it hard to support himself and Belle with his job as an artist, simply because there was no demand for his service.

With reasonable debt looming above his head, Maurice was forced to move out of their small apartment in Paris and moved to a few charitable accommodation in search of more affordable alternatives.

Thankfully for Maurice, his venture in finding the roof above his head didn't last that long. Belle's maverick teacher, Monsieur Francois, compelled offering him and Belle to occupy the small extension within his vast manor, a proposal Maurice found it hard to resist.

Francois' benevolence in opening his house not only saving both Maurice and Belle's life from peril but his countryside escapade was proven to be the perfect convalescent home for Maurice's broken spirit.

"Idleness is a playing field of the devil," the wise tutor mentioned one day. He gently encouraged Maurice to busy himself in order to ease the loss of his wife. Employing his artistic flair and his mechanical knowledge, Maurice began his new career as a clock and music box maker. Later on, the kind man also aided Maurice to establish his credibility by introducing him to an association of artisans he knew from one of his contact who agreed to have Maurice as their apprentice.

A few months flew by. Belle continued to bloom intellectually under the tutelage of Monsieur Francois. She had displayed a gracefulness, eloquence and impeccable manner of nobility despite her commoner upbringing. Naturally, Francois wanted to celebrate her achievement, and Belle was coming for a big surprise.

"Belle..." he summoned her into his office one morning. "Since you have been working incredibly hard this year, and accomplished more than I expected of you, I thought it would be nice if I reward you with something rather…. _special_."

"Oh, Monsieur! You've been extremely generous sparing your free time to teach me while you could've enjoyed a restful day instead," Belle politely refused. "Besides, I've got so many books that I….-"

"No, no, no," the man chuckled, expression amused. "Do I mention I will give you another book?"

"It's not a _book_?" Belle's eyes widened, her curiosity piqued.

Francois' triumphant grin spread an inch wider. "No, it's not." His hand pulled an envelope from under his coat's pocket, revealing a familiar calligraphic insignia that Belle remembered her father received once.

Belle held her breath in suspense. "Is that….an _invitation_?"

The old man nodded. "Belle, I'll take you and your papa to the annual summer ball hosted by the Prince of Conde. I've arranged the seamstress to come over later on, tonight to take your measurement."

Belle was positive her jaw must be hovering above the floor right now, her brain felt overwhelmed by the news. Feeling of exceeding excitement and apprehension intermingling in a confused knot in her chest, numbing her senses.

"And next week, your papa is going to give you a dance lesson," Francois said in closing. "That's all I have for this morning, I'll see you later in the library for the lesson."

In the solace of her bedroom, Belle lay on her bed letting all the information sink in from her head to her heart. Suddenly, Belle remembered her unpleasant encounter with the cantankerous heir of Conde many years ago. But this would be a large ball - she thought, consoling herself. Hundreds of guest would attend. It would be very unlikely she would bump into the waspish young royal face to face ever again. There would be a lot of more interesting things: captivating women, foods, and intriguing conversation that would distract the prince's attention. Even if he saw her, the prince might not recognize her after years transformed her appearance.

 _Besides, who knows…. he might have changed_. Belle thought to herself.

* * *

Note: Thanks to civilwarrose for her beta on this chapter.

The **Seven Years' War** was a war fought between 1754 and 1763, the main conflict occurring in the seven-year period from 1756 to 1763. It involved every European great power of the time except the Ottoman Empire and spanned five continents, affecting Europe, the Americas, West Africa, India, and the Philippines. The conflict split Europe into two coalitions, led by the Kingdom of Great Britain (inc. Prussia, Portugal, Hanover, and other small German states) on one side and the Kingdom of France (inc. Austria-led Holy Roman Empire, Russia, Spain, and Sweden) on the other. Meanwhile, in India, the Mughal Empire, with the support of the French, tried to crush a British attempt to conquer Bengal.

Now, the concentration camp fact, thanks to WildGypsyWoman12 that point out to me that I need to highlight here. This wasn't the same concentration camp mentioned in WWII, I just used the fact that gypsies were generally unwelcome since they first arrived in France in 15th century. source: en dot wikipedia dot org slash wiki slash History_of_the_Romani_people. There are a lot of suggestive evidence why the devout Catholic French people dislike the 'Roma' gypsy, just like the Hunchback of Notredame story, one of the most likely reason is witchcraft: kiamagic dot com slash wiki slash index dot php slash Romany_Witchcraft

Which probably causing a lot of writers (myself included), romanticizing the tragic life of the Roma people: en dot wikipedia dot org slash wiki slash Romani_people_in_fiction


	7. Better to be feared than loved

The night the mistress of the palace passed away, everything changed. Even Lumiere, who was usually dashingly eloquent, cheerful and could pull entertainment out of anything, appeared to be descended to the dark place like everyone else. The phantom of laughter of happier times and the ghost of chatter from the ball resonated through the dark, empty corridor.

It was strange to be confronted with the grandeur of the castle; the glinting gold and sparkling chandelier every day while in comparison, right now, Mrs. Potts listened to both of her masters, the young and the older, engaged in a heated argument for the umpteenth time.

"Shhh… that's okay Christopher," Mrs. Potts lulled the baby, who was whimpering when another indignant yell echoed through the empty hall. And he wasn't the only one stirred from his slumber.

"Is he awake?" asked the sleepy voice from their bed, looking at the crib. It appeared thick walls and a good floor insulation wasn't enough to muffle all the colorful language being shouted below.

This time there was no mediator, no hasty footfalls, and no Lady Marie's long-suffering voice. There was only furious slamming of the door that would eventually end the verbal debacle. It was ironic to see the disparity between whatever happened out there and the peaceful joy inside the tiny servant quarters she shared with her husband and newborn son.

"Don't worry, he'll go back to sleep in no time," Mrs. Potts assured. "Just go back to sleep."

"How about you?" He grunted while rubbing his eyes. However, fatigue and sleepiness were proven to be a much larger enemy to defeat.

"You've worked more than enough today. Besides, you have an early start in the village tomorrow." Mrs. Potts wasn't offended when the response she got was a lackadaisical 'okay,' and a loud yawn. Her husband's snoring resumed.

Placing her baby back into his crib, Mrs. Potts glanced towards the sleeping form of her husband. It comforted her to watch him sleep, so ungraceful but peaceful. His breathing offered a strangely soothing timbre to her ears, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Materially speaking, both princes had everything, while she had nothing, but she knew no wealth, power, and position could buy what she had right now.

Even though Adam bravely tried to conceal his pain (and his pride not allowing him to disclose any weaknesses), Mrs. Potts' sharp maternal instinct still heard Adam's angry sobs, muffled as they were behind a pillow. And so, the benevolent servant would quietly tiptoe across the massive corridor into the young master's bedroom with a few books in her hand. Every night during the following week, she would try to console the young prince with his mother's favorite tales from a faraway land, wrapped in each other's fond memory, washed in each other's tears.

But Adam eventually had to conquer his own fear alone, and everyone had their own unique mental mechanism to prevent sorrow and hurt from evading further.

When Lady Marie died, Prince Adam Dieudonné of Conde lost more than just his mother and his innocence. He also lost the part of himself that believed in faith and hope, kindness and love.

Little did he know that behind the castle wall, destiny was writing one through him.

* * *

There were days where Agathe didn't see the lady of the palace for days, only to find her hiding with substantial bruises coloring her delicate face. After spending years living as a beggar by the fortress precinct, Agathe became all too familiar with the root cause of such blemishes. It tormented her to bear witness on how perilous Lady Marie's life was. It would only make sense, that without her - Adam was slowly becoming another version of his cruel father, forgetting how the warmth of love felt.

Looking at the red bloom she picked from Estelle's tomb, Agathe reflected the day she spoke to Lady Marie.

 _It was one of those beautiful mid-summer afternoons where the leaves were glowing in radiant color and the sunlight filtered through the gap like a majestic light from heaven. Rebounding from rounds of domestic abuse that further weakened her broken spirit, Lady Marie had decided to take a refuge by taking a quiet stroll._

" _Your Majesty, pardon me for trespassing your palace ground. Your lowly servant only wishes to see the autumn splendor in the making."_

" _Oh most certainly. In fact, I could do with a companion," Marie said in welcoming invitation._

 _They chatted, and Marie spoke lightly about many happy times, until they found themselves in an open clearing, at the edge of the castle's expansive garden, overlooking the lush, rolling hills and the gushing waterfall that serenaded a soft, calming rush._

" _Ah, this is a beautiful resting place," Marie said, admiring the magnificent view nature had created. "Someday, when I die… I wanted to be buried here."_

" _You are too young to speak about death, Your Highness," Agathe soothed._

 _Marie contemplated. For too many years she had sobbed and wept and screamed, making sounds she didn't have names for to voice her anguish. But no matter what she did, nothing changed, until she learned the fact: If there was one immutable truth about life, it was crueler than it is fair._

" _Oh… you wouldn't know," she breathed despondently._

" _If I may ask, is something troubling you?" Agathe asked, even though she could guess the answer._

 _While Marie had given up hope of changing her husband a long time ago, Adam was completely a different case._

" _I have a son… and he…" She floundered._

 _Agathe reached for her hand, clasping it gently to offer her a little comfort, and instantaneously, Marie's brave mask cracked. "The difference between guilt and grief is a thin one. Sometimes, death is preferable to the agony of life"_ _A bead of tear surfaced. Despite her need to draw a verbal confession from the lady, Agathe_

 _Despite her need to draw a verbal confession from the lady, Agathe_ _felt awful to make her resurfaced thoughts Marie must have learned to subdue so meticulously._

" _You don't have to tell me," Agathe managed, securing herself behind the hood, preparing to leave._

" _No… I want to," the Lady finally uttered to the sky with a tone of hopelessness and finality._

" _I failed him. I thought I do him a favor by never saying no, providing a lavish allowance with no stipulation, praising him and... dedicating my sole attention to him. I let my love blind me of giving him what he wanted and not what he needed. Now, look at him... he was just…-Oh, nevermind."_

 _While Marie had hoped her son would grow to be respected by his subservient subjects, cherished by people around him, demonstrating responsibility and philanthropy, Adam had turned into anything but._

 _"He would learn to love," Agathe assured. "When he meets the right one."_

* * *

The night his father's boat went down, everything changed again for Adam. The young prince was forced to grow up a decade in the span of about one minute, in the same amount of time it took a distraught Lumiere to calmly explain that his father, the Prince of Conde, wasn't going to come home.

"They reported the violent thunderstorm might have been the culprit," he clarified with a somewhat neutral tone. "There was very little chance that anyone on board that ship survived."

All the castle staff was there, lining up as the silent witness as Lumiere delivered the devastating news. No one could guess what the young prince's reaction would be, but laughing deliriously wasn't one of them.

"I suppose a stately funeral is on the menu then," Adam initiated to break the monotony. The Prince paced back and forth, sweeping his sight on his staff one by one.

"On it, Master," Lumiere supplied.

"Yes, Lumiere. I appreciate if we can go ahead with that as soon as possible."

"But, Sire… don't you think we have to wait until someone returned their..-"

"Dead bodies?" Adam interrupted. "Cogsworth…" he exhaled, shaking his head and scoffed mockingly. "You have lived longer than me, haven't you? Now, tell me… how long normally do people recover the remnant of the shipwreck? Hmmm?"

"Months… sometimes years," the butler replied timidly. "And sometimes…-"

"Never?" Adam finished. "And I _don't_ have one month… or one year to _sulk_ over his death. I have a lot of more important matter to settle than a petty funeral for someone who even my father's subjects had never wanted to know," he said solemnly, but Cogsworth had known Adam too well to be able to detect a dangerous undertone in the manner he spoke. "Dare I say they may be rejoicing with this news…"

"I… I understand, Sire."

* * *

 _His mother had spent all of our taxes..."_

" _Yes, to feed her partying and gambling habits! Irresponsible aristocrats!"_

" _We are suffering on their expense!"_

" _No wonder she married the prince. It must be for his money."_

Those mocking insults were getting familiar by the day, flying around the province, some in hushed tones, some in subtlety, some disguised in a joke among the officers, some turning into a mocking banter between villagers that Adam happened to bump. And since his father's sudden death, the rumor became more prevalent in its existence.

Adam could care less about what the citizen's thought about his father and the ruthlessness of his regime, but how could they speak vile things about his mother? She was the kindest and most patient person on earth!

Arriving back in the castle after his morning stroll in Villeneuve, Adam practically leaped out of his saddle and took the grand staircase two at a time. He absently tore the front doors off their hinges.

"Cogsworth!" Adam barked. "I want you and Lumiere in my office, now!"

The obedient servant just dipped his head discreetly, despite conversing with himself what could be the cause of the prince's magnificently bad mood.

"My Prince!" Lumiere echoed, trailing nimbly behind the agitated price while constantly maintaining his straight back posture as he ran.

As soon as arriving behind his bureau, Adam seemed to be able to compose himself and wore his polite, collected, princely mask. He laced his finger and smiled. This kind of mood swing Cogsworth found intensely disturbing.

"Your next task is to prepare for the summer ball," Adam announced to both his staffs. "I know two months is quite a short notice, but we don't want to disappoint everyone just because my father no longer here to host it."

Lumiere was first to distinguish the abnormality. Since Prince Louise's funeral and subsequently - Adam's inauguration as the new ordained head of principality, they had never discussed the summer ball at all, not until minutes ago. All this while, Adam was perfectly contented with the plan to sit and bask in the summer sun, enjoying his glorious garden with the occasional visit of a selected close friend. They had discussed this informally a few times when he served him breakfast. Why suddenly he decided to hold the ball that was normally hosted by his father? Had something happened down in the village during his morning stroll?

"But Your Highness, are you sure we should get on with this? The whole province is mourning. Isn't it a little too early for having a banquet?" It was Cogsworth again, the annoying voice of Adam's conscience.

Mentally, Lumiere felt like running his hands down his face and groaned dramatically. _Nice going, Cogsworth._

Clearly, if Adam's father couldn't use him to fuel his own twisted ambitions, he felt it was his right to try to strip Adam of his happiness by other means. For once Adam wouldn't let this happen. He glared at his butler who immediately shrunk under the heat of his stare.

"Cogsworth! I already told you that we would hold the ball as usual. If you asked me again one more time, I could choose to silence you forever," came the prince's appalled voice.

"My...my apologies, Your Highness," the butler looked between his toes, not that he could see them.

If Adam wanted to be truthful, he held the summer ball just to make his point - that he cared no less about his father's departure, he wasn't grieving, in contrast, he felt delighted for not having to share the throne with anyone. But it also served him another purpose: to avenge those sniveling villagers for spreading scandalous rumors of his late mother.

"In fact, I want this year's summer ball to be the most extravagant and sumptuous. Invite twice as many guests as we did last year."

"But, Sire… the household budget won't suffice for the…Ouff!" Cogsworth's sentence ended prematurely when Lumiere elbowed him roughly on his ribs.

" _Mon amie!_ " Lumiere mouthed towards Cogsworth when their master wasn't looking and gestured a motion slicing his own throat. Why Cogsworth had to be brutally honest about everything was always going to remain a conundrum to Lumiere. Although rightly, as the one held responsible for the bookkeeping and castle's account, Cogsworth was right to apprehend the chance and raised his concern over possible large expenditure. Especially when he had seen the account flirted with bankruptcy more than once.

"Then find the budget elsewhere," Adam suggested without much consideration. Cogsworth frowned in bewilderment as he stared at Adam who remained poised regally, drumming his fingers on the varnished surface of his bureau. It took Cogsworth a few eyeblinks to decode the meaning insinuated behind those words.

His eyes widened in horror. "You mean by…."

"Yes. I'm afraid I would have to disappoint you all." Adam faked a remorseful sigh."And for that I would like to apologize," he announced, but not sounding sorry at all. "I have to raise the tax - again," he said with finality, maintaining a regal and diplomatic tone.

Even Lumiere, who had played subservient cards for the past ten minutes, decided to speak. "But, my Prince… the citizens already have a hard life right now. Adding their burden would only destroy the warm, charismatic and positive impression during your tenure as their leader," he quipped, subtly employing his persuasion skill. "You never want to be like your father, do you? Feared and unloved?"

Honestly, the lesson of winning favor from his subjects had been a dreary issue for Adam. He cared less about what they thought of him. He had never intended to earn his citizens' respect, especially now that he recited the unpleasant rumor they had spread about his late mother, he loathed the topic even more.

" _His mother had spent all of our tax..."_

" _We are suffering on their expense!"_

 _Serves you right_ , said the resentful voice in Adam's head.

" _Love is fickle; it is like a tide. It comes, it goes. Fear is much more predictable and can be externally imposed. Lovers can fall out easily on a fast downward spiral whim; fear does not wear off especially if as a ruler, you asserted yourself enough against your subjects. Fear is what will keep wanton destruction and arbitrary betrayals in check."_

His father's voice admonished him. Adam gritted his teeth at the memory. He loathed conceding his father was right. The scandalous gossip about his mother had always been there, but it had remained controlled during his father's reign, and now he knew why.

"No, Lumiere," Adam replied. "Because there is a saying. It is better to be feared than loved."

* * *

That late afternoon, after a long journey from the suburb of Paris, the horse driven carriage stopped in Villeneuve. Belle pulled the curtain of her carriage. Outside was a busy market square, people were going about their business. Merchants were busy trading, women and their daughters were washing around the well, a few idle girls flirted with drunk men in front of the tavern. It was a typical sight of a small provincial life.

"I thought before stepping into the world of opulence I would like to show you a charming little bakery that has been my favorite over the year," Francois said, pointing out of the window towards a modest establishment on the corner of the street.

"I can't believe you prefer _that_ over the palace food, Francois," Maurice smiled teasingly.

"Well…" The old gentleman feigned seriousness. "If you have something special every day…. Then it won't be special anymore, wouldn't it?"

Belle smiled watching the exchange between her father and her tutor. "But, Monsieur… isn't it too late for the bakery to open right now?"

The old man's mouth curled upwards. "Belle, I've told the Baker that I am coming, so there might be a fresh batch of baguettes for us..." He tapped the side of his nose and winked one of his eyes. "...if we are lucky, he might even prepare something fancy… like croissants or _pain au chocolat_. After all, I am _his_ favorite customer."

"Ok, enough of those tortures. You made me hungry." Maurice opened the door of the carriage and sampled the air. "Hmmm….I can't blame you. It does smell tasty."

"Cheese croissant is his specialty," whispered Francois, striding forward leading the group.

A moment later, they emerged out of the premise with two bags full of all assortments of bread. Maurice was diligently plowing into one fresh baguette and made a sound that Belle could conclude as 'heavenly delicious.'

"I know why you couldn't resist stopping by," Maurice commented between mouthful. "This is perhaps the best baguette I tasted since my wife died."

" _Oui...oui,_ " he chuckled mirthfully _._ "Dare I say for the sake of that bakery, I'll be willing to move into Villeneuve myself," admitted Francois. "It was actually a rather appealing choice considering I work for the palace. But, I'm afraid it's not all rainbow and sunshine in here."

Both Maurice and Belle raised their brows at that.

"Unfortunately, the Prince of the Principality has raised the tax year after year, not giving a chance for the village economy to recover after the war," he explained.

"It makes sense," Belle thought aloud. "In hard times like this, food is the only business surviving even when the tax caused the vendor to raise the price. Consumers have no choice than to pay an exorbitant price."

"Can't you address this matter with the Prince himself?" Maurice turned to Francois. "You are on his board of advisor now."

Francois shook his head dejectedly at that. "I'm afraid it is easier said than done. Trust me, a lot of people have tried. Even those that I say had a better political acumen, credentials and experience hadn't successfully convinced the prince."

"But why would he need so much money, doesn't he have enough already?" Belle piped in, recalling the kind of richness etched in every inch of the castle's glory.

"The world behind those glorious brick wall isn't as simple as you think, Belle." Francois tried to define it simply. "There are groups of people with polar interest, worldly desire, and conflicting opinion. And for these aims, they are willing to use their privilege and abuse their power."

"Oh…" Belle only managed a gasp.

A sudden commotion diverted the group's interest from their savory snack and political discussion. They came across a group of people outside what appeared to be a tavern, a few men and women were shouting, and a distinct cry of pain was heard.

"Must be whipping or some sort," Maurice deduced from the peculiar noise similar to horse whip that was splitting the air - except there was no horse in their sight. Belle felt goosebumps spread on her skin at the image evoked from the fearful shrill among the crowd's clamorous yell.

Maurice and Francois joined the onlooker while Belle returned to the carriage. From where she sat, Belle looked through the window and saw there was a teenage girl and a little boy, both curling in foetal position while a large, imposing figure wrapped in red jacket, shouting and threatening them with his horse whip. Thankfully, the man seemed to lash the whip on the cobbled stone floor, but it was loud and close enough to intimidate the terrified children.

"Excuse me, Monsieur.…Can we help?" Maurice said, managing to push his way into the assemblage, the riotous noise subsided.

Maurice's eyes widened at the scene he saw. Among the general homogenous population of Villeneuve, presented before him were two children of African ethnicity. While in Paris, Maurice had met many African nobility, he was well aware of the shift of society's perspective following a large slave trade and colonialism. Maurice inferred from their look that the girl was perhaps around Belle's age, while the young boy couldn't be older than five. Although both appeared to be severely malnourished, and it was possible that they were older, but with their growth stunted from malnutrition. Next to him, Francois gawked openly, mirroring his surprised thought.

"Who are you?" A handsome gentleman with imposing musculature demanded.

"I am just a frequent traveler, Monsieur," replied Francois politely, lifting his hat and nodding lightly towards a few suspecting eyes. "...from Paris," he supplied with more details for added credibility. "And this is my traveling companion -"

"Maurice Beaumont," Maurice mimicked the gesture, "...used to serve in the army a long time ago," he added, playing along.

The athletic gentleman, who seemed to be revered by the townspeople, folded his arms arrogantly. "Thank you for your concern, gentleman. But, I will take care of these little rowdy hellions myself."

Maurice studied the condition of both children. Their faces were filthy, their hair was unkempt, and dressed poorly in torn rags coordinated with shoes that barely had soles. As Maurice and Francois drew closer, unpleasant odor invaded their nostrils, suggesting the children hadn't taken a bath for a long time.

"What have they done?" Maurice asked, trying to hide the accusatory edge of his voice.

"They're thieves," the man hissed, tightening his grasp on the whip in his hand.

"I saw them steal food from the tavern kitchen," a voice chimed in. Suddenly a stocky man with a large red bow emerged from under the shadow of the burly man. "I left the back door open to ventilate the room, there is where they got in," he narrated as a way of clarification.

"And this is not the first time," the man in red jacket said serenely, but the gritting of his teeth, balling of his fist and the sound of his knuckles crack clearly spoke otherwise.

His statement drew Maurice and Francois' attention towards the children again. Maurice winced as he noted the boy's bony torso which was exposed between the large holes on his oversize shirt. He was painfully skinny, his ribs imprinted on his pale, unhealthy skin. He looked more like a walking skeleton than a child. His sister was not in better condition, her cheek bones protruding and distorting her oval face.

"But, Gaston… they only took what was left over from-"

The smaller man's protest was clipped by his friend's reply. "I know, LeFou," snapped Gaston with his booming voice. The stocky figure flinched at his rebuke. "But I run a business, not a charity. I could use the leftovers and turn them into compost or chicken feed." That silenced his smaller confidant. There was an air of haughtiness and disdain in Gaston's mannerism that Maurice disliked.

"Gaston is right," added another gentleman from among the crowd. Maurice couldn't quite believe the villagers were actually supporting this brute's harshness and cruelty. Meanwhile, Gaston smiled resplendently, basking in prideful satisfaction fueled by the usual exhalation in the presence of others.

"It is difficult enough to make a living these days without a pesky thief snooping around the market. And for that, they deserve to be punished!" commented another. That additional statement seemed to inflate Gaston's swollen ego and tossed it to the sky. His smug grin grew a fraction wider as he paced back and forth mockingly.

While stealing always seen as a crime, normally people would be more lenient towards little, famished children. He wondered whether this had something to do with general stereotypes and prejudice of their skin color. Francois exchanged a brief glance with Maurice. Even when he spoke nothing, Maurice could see his friend was equally appalled by the man's callousness. He only nodded his silence approval.

"Please, Monsieur… punish me, but let my brother go," croaked the girl, incriminating herself for her wrongdoings. But her pleading voice seemed to earn conflicting effect because the large man pulled out his whip preparing to show his raw power.

"Be quiet! Next time it would be your skin abused by this," Gaston warned.

Maurice decided to intervene, although taking an extra precaution not to bruise Gaston's ego in front of the villagers. "Pardon me, Monsieur…-?"

"Legume. Gaston Legume," proclaimed the man presumptuously. His thick biceps rippled under the constriction of his red jacket as he lowered his hand.

"Monsieur Legume, allow me to pay whatever these children steal three-fold. But please… let them go. They only do it because they're hungry." Francois joined in.

Francois' generous proposal incited an incoherent murmur among the crowds. Gaston bounced his sight towards his lackey who shrugged his shoulders indecisively. The burly man considered his options, muttering something unintelligible to himself before choosing.

"Fine," Gaston consented, addressing both Maurice and Francois."But I must tell you, next week… they'll do the same thing again, and you won't be here to protect them," he appended, riveting his eyes dangerously.

Francois just wanted the ordeal to done and over with. After the price of compensation was agreed, Francois nonchalantly pulled out a couple of coins and handed over to the man. Gaston accepted it begrudgingly, glaring at the children before pompously leaving the scene.

Behind him, LeFou was signaling the congregation to leave the scene. "Alright...alright people, the entertainment is over," he ordered at the gawking villagers, shooing them away with sweeping waves of his arms.

As soon as the tension dissolved and the crowds dispersed, Maurice and Francois approached the children.

"Are you okay?" asked Maurice, reaching his hand to assist the girl to stand. He almost afraid to hold the girl's wrist for fear of crushing the bones that his hand could feel poking out through the torn material of her sleeve. She nodded weakly.

"Here, take this," Francois generously handed both of their sack full of bread while Maurice disappeared behind the carriage.

The girl gasped, both hands pressing on her mouth while her eyes feasted on the sight of food, more than she could ever imagine. "No, Monsieur… I can't," she refused after breaking from her moment of fascination. "That… that's too much for both of us."

She was observant enough to construe that the bread must have been a supply for her savior's journey now that she noticed the horse driven carriage laden with suitcases. Adjacent to her, her brother consumed the bread at an alarming rate, tearing the flesh like a predator would on its prey.

"Jean!" she whispered loudly, elbowing her brother to remind him of his lack of manners. Her reproach startled the boy, causing a series of convulsive coughs as some of the bread had gone down the wrong way.

Francois patted the boy's back, but the boy remained intent on gulping what he had left, not even bothered with interruption on his windpipe.

"We don't have a long journey ahead of us. Our gluttony had compelled us to buy more than we can eat," he chuckled softly. "You can keep these for tomorrow," he insisted, but something else gnawed at him, a question ringing in his head begging to be asked.

"Now, can you tell me why did you steal?"

She didn't answer at first, but Francois was certain she had heard him, thus he approached the question differently. "Where are your parents?"

The girl didn't answer for an uncomfortably long time, steeling herself as she squeezed her brother's skinny hand. "We are orphaned, Monsieur. We lost our mother a couple of years ago to illness, but Father… he was accused of embezzling and he was…-" The girl's voice faded as sobs tore her chest.

After a few calming breaths, she began again. "Fearing the same ill-fate, I took my brother and ran away." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve that had equally drenched with tears. "I tried to find work… but there is hardly any here, in the small provincial town. I have considered going to Paris… but I heard it's a dangerous place, especially if you are…..homeless."

"Oh, bless you…" Maurice who had been listening to the dialogue said comfortingly. "I don't have anything much, but since my daughter is almost the same age as you, I suppose it won't hurt to give you one of her dresses...and a blanket for your brother."

"Monsieur… I don't know… I don't know what to say." Her lips trembled as she expressed her gratitude.

"It's my honor to be able to give, that means I have more than enough, my dear," Maurice replied, depositing the bag into the girl's arms. " _Please…_. Accept this, so we could leave in peace knowing you have something to wear and to eat."

Once again, Francois reached into his pocket to withdraw a few coins. "What's your name, Child?"

"Plumette… Plumette Aubertin."

"Right, Miss Aubertin… how old are you?"

"Sixteen, Monsieur."

"Would you be willing to work… say, in the castle? Because I had a good connection that might appreciate a hardworking girl like you."

Plumette looked uncertain. "In the castle? Even if I am a..-"

"Yes," clipped Francois. "Just because you are born _different_ doesn't mean you can't be what you want."

Plumette swallowed, on the verge of tears again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Even Jean, her brother, halted his ravenous chewing, suddenly paying his attention to the conversation. His facial expression was an enigmatic mixture of hopefulness, sadness and something else that both Francois nor Maurice couldn't put their finger on.

"Ask for a direction for _Chateau de Conde,_ and then...find a lady called Mrs. Potts," explicated Francois. "She is the head of the castle kitchen. She will be able to help you."

"Merci, Monsieur," she managed. By then all the bitterness from her features had vanished, only leaving a trace of sweetness behind. "We shall never forget your kindness."

They exchanged their goodbyes before both gentlemen retreated into their carriage to continue their journey.

"How I wished the color of our skin still isn't a racist stigma but just another physical feature," Francois huffed as he peered from the window of the carriage, watching both children disappeared from view. "However….we've done all we can."

" _Oui,_ " Maurice reciprocated. "But, thank heaven for people like you, Francois," he said, placing his hand on the old man's shoulder. "There is very few nobility with extraordinary humbleness and humanity like you."

"Absolutely," Belle piped in. "And I'll still be a peasant girl who couldn't read, write and dance."

Both men smiled at that.

"You know, I have a funny feeling that we might see Plumette again," Maurice said.

* * *

Note: Sorry, overdue update! So, as a payback, I published a chapter twice as long than usual! Special thanks for civilwarrose for her beta and her valuable input! She just published a new story in her profile; please do check whenever you have time :-) Next chapter Belle will meet Adam. I promise you; she learned to dance for _something_.

Mundane historical notes: It is generally known that black people have been residing in European countries since the early colonial times. But even before the 15th century and during Roman times, a time when color of skin still wasn't a racist stigma but just another physical feature, black people lived in Europe. Remains of a man with black African features were found in England recently, dating his life back to the 13th century.

Of course, slavery existed before racism. In the 15th century, blacks and whites were enslaved indiscriminately. Blacks in the Americas could become free men and own their own slaves and land (which was rather common in colonial Brazil for instance). It is only in later years that being black made you a slave forever and by birth, or at least a kind of human always inferior to white people. This racial perspective on identity and humanity only gained authority in later modern times.

As a consequence of the slave trade free blacks also arrived in Europe between the 16th and 19th century. Blacks lived in London, Liverpool, Lisbon, Seville, during the 17th and 18th centuries. Other historical books with scientific authority give you in-depth knowledge of this:

Hugh Thomas's 'The Slave Trade.'

Ivan Van Sertima's 'African Presence in Early Europe'

All these publications teach us something about this hidden part of European history.

Source: afroeurope . blogspot . co . uk / 2010 / 08 / history-of-black-people-in-europe . html


	8. Gone But Never Forgotten

The reception was merely an introductory opening ceremony to the summer ball the next day. Disregarding Madame De Garderobe's suggestion to wear wigs and to apply face paint to achieve blemish-free complexion, Belle had opted for a modest amount of makeup, with only minimal amounts of eyeshadow and lip paint. After the lady had helped her secure her dress in place, Belle was ready for the informal banquet that evening.

"Come in," she replied at a soft knock sounded at the door.

Maurice peeked his head through the gap at the door. "Is my princess ready?"

Belle whirled around in response. Her hair was twisted in a simple updo. Dark brown ringlets danced around her shoulder from the movement.

"I am no princess, Papa," Belle protested. But Maurice was too preoccupied to pay real attention to her words.

The dress Belle wore was hardly sophisticated compared to what Maurice had seen sweeping the ballroom floor, not that he had seen many of them. It was made from layers of crimson organza graced with delicate ruffles along the hem, help to create the gown's voluminous effect. There was no lace, no intricate embroidery, no busy patterns across its sleeve or bodice - it was made from plain vermillion sateen. The neckline was trimmed with silky waves, framing her shoulder nicely. As a finishing touch, she wore a small rose pendant, a heirloom from her mother. It drew attention to her graceful posture. But the lack of elaborate details seemed to be what made her beauty shine.

Maurice muffled his gasp. Belle was like a different version of Estelle in her dress. Seeing his daughter was like looking at her picture at an earlier time. He took a few smitten blinks to reconcile his daughter's new elegant and mature look with the little girl he remembered sitting patiently, reading a book while he was laboriously working on his latest project.

"Papa?" Belle's voice interrupted his daydream. "Do I look that bad?" she asked again, looking a little uneasy.

"Oh! No...no. You...you look…. _perfect_!" Maurice complemented, hoping his words would dispel Belle's apprehension of her new image. "I'm sorry, I am lost in my own thought. You remind me so much of your mother," he explained.

"Thanks, Papa," she exhaled in relief. "These stays really…feel like they're squashing my organs," Belle complained. It took her few minutes to get accustomed to its constricting nature.

"It's _painful_ to look beautiful," Maurice said teasingly.

"At least I look _beautiful_ ," Belle taunted back, trying to look irritated.

"I couldn't agree any less," concurred the voice from the door which still left open. Belle felt his face reddened to the tip of her ears. How long had Monsieur Francois been listening to their embarrassing conversation - especially her childish critique over the constrictive corset?

"Now, shall we?"

Belle had never really explored the interior of the castle. The stately room she visited years ago was merely a sample of what kind of grandeur she would be experiencing tonight, which she realized was exceeding her expectations. The sheer enormity of the ballroom, the soaring vaulted ceiling and the spectacular sight of numerous crystal chandeliers, promoting the owner's wealth and status. It took her a few blinks to acclimate her eyes to their brightness.

Belle could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that such grandiose and extravagant splendor was made solely for a man. It was easy to get lost in the touch of sheer luxury in that scale, and for a moment Belle almost forgot the perilous debacle outside the bakery earlier, a contrasting reality of what kind of life had been sacrificed in order to maintain this glorious display.

"Admiring the view, Belle?" Francois's voice echoed through the wall as they walked through the long corridor from their chamber down to the spiraling staircase that was gilded in gold.

Belle threw a smile to answer his rhetoric, but her eyes were still busy admiring never ending artwork that dressed the wall. It was quite obvious that her tutor knew the answer even before he was asking.

"The Prince had an excellent taste, not only for decorating the interior of his palace but also in women." He slowed down his pace, gazing over his shoulder, catching her eyes and his voice grew serious. "Be careful with him, he is unpredictable and had quite a taste for beautiful young women. Not to mention he is irresistibly charming," he warned.

Belle had never told Monsieur Francois about the unforgettable debacle with the Prince years ago that was engraved permanently in her memory. She politely dismissed Francois' unwarranted worry. "I don't plan to dally with him, Monsieur. I much rather stay incognito and wander around this beautiful place."

As they went past, Belle noticed an intricate double door with a gilded handle, slightly left ajar. Her curiosity sparked when she saw a large collection of books from the tiny gap.

"Is that?"

"The Palace Library," Francois completed.

"Oh!" Suddenly the prospect of the ball became less appealing by the second. "I know how much you love to read Belle, that's why I've brought you this." Francois pulled a volume that had been concealed neatly under the billowy sleeve of his arm. "You can do with this if you found the Royal discussion isn't quite fitting to your taste."

Belle smiled, the old tutor knew her so well. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said, accepting the book.

They arrived in the ballroom filled with people wrapped in glitz and finery. Belle couldn't help to feel scandalously underdressed for the occasion.

A moment later, a well-dressed young man glided into the floor of the ballroom with such startling elegance, welcoming the eager faces who had expectantly waiting for his entrance.

To her surprise, the Prince's first impression was nothing like her memory of him. Belle observed him as he debonairly greeted a few dignitaries, bowing politely and offering them drinks. Standing merely earshot away, she saw him nodding sympathetically as he listened to the Duke that was sharing his unfortunate fate of losing his commodity-laden cargo on the Atlantic sea.

It seemed to her that the young prince graced his father's throne and fulfilling his public duty confidently. There was hardly any trace of lack of social graces, arrogance, nor unstable temperament like her previous memory of him. He even graciously offered the Duke some of his connection to help him salvage whatever remnant of the asset that was lost in the sea. Even though this observation contradicted to the extreme poverty she had witnessed earlier today, the Prince certainly wasn't the snappish, contemptuous and socially impaired aristocrat with unappealing personality Belle had met years ago.

In her mission to stay incognito, Belle strode outside and pleasantly relieved to find deserted balcony.

"Practicing for tomorrow, Mademoiselle?" Belle was startled by a soft baritone behind her. She whirled around to find the young aristocrat with his piercing blue eyes and a faint smile that lifted his lips. Inside the ballroom, Belle didn't bother to look at his face, not after what kind of history of the ruthless ruler she had learned along her journey to the Palace. But now, when their eyes finally greeted each other, she began to realize how handsome he was.

"Oh… Your Highness!" Sobering from her moment of fascination, Belle immediately dipped down to a curtsy.

In fact, Belle wasn't the only one who was captivated. Despite her tender age, her beauty was undeniable, Adam thought incongruously. Her doll-like face was adorned with a pair of large eyes and pixie cut chin. And her dress…it made her looked like an outlandish fairy dressed in rose petals from the unknown land far away.

Slowly, Belle looked up, anticipating the young aristocrat was going to recognize who she was. Thankfully, the memory of the child he scolded for peeking into his library seemed to be distances away.

"At ease," the Prince said.

A few days ago, Belle hadn't cared one way or the other about the young aristocrat. She had been approximately 100% sure that prodigal-turned-decadent ruler would be disgusted to see her. Admittedly, after hearing all sorts of unpleasant accounts about him, Belle was more than pleased to simply enjoy the party without meeting him. And today, he was just here, nonchalantly ruining her ambition to stay low-key with his eloquence and charm.

"Although I am flattered with the way you stared at me, I appreciate if we could exchange a few words," he said, chuckling softly as though enjoying Belle trapped at her own shock. "I believe your social skills could still do with some improvements, Mademoiselle. That was hardly subtle."

Belle gripped the railing tentatively, not knowing what to quip or to carry the conversation to.

"Is this how you utilize your spare time?" Adam looked pointedly at the book that fell from Belle's grasp. He picked it up for his perusal.

"Rousseau? " He shook his head, chuckling incredulously. "Isn't that a little too heavy for a young lady?" he snorted as though it was a great tragedy that Belle had wasted her life on political material.

Belle knotted her brows at that, but she wasn't insulted by the Prince's remark because her brain was far too astounded to process whatever was happening. So far, she had never met another person who shared her voracious appetite in reading. And the way he was watching her now, wearing a distinct, curious smirk...it was like he was asking the universe a question, one she had no idea how to answer.

The Prince smiled when Belle's frown deepened. "You are not the only one with expensive education."

Thankfully, this time Belle had regained control over her tongue and mind. "The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless." She quoted a sentence that expressed her love for book perfectly.

"Well said," Adam said, genuinely impressed with the knowledge she could contain in her young mind. "Who did you come with?"

"Monsieur Francois, my uncle," Belle said plainly, deciding not to elaborate her complicated relationship with her mentor.

"Oh, that explains a lot!" the Prince acknowledged, smiling warmly. Tentatively, Belle stepped back, once again encountering his very close, penetrating gaze. He stood right beside her debonairly, regarding her in a gentle way that she could honestly have no words for.

"I say you look wonderful tonight, Mademoiselle," he flattered. But nothing in his demeanor suggested that he was lecherously attracted by parts of her body but her brain… her wittiness….her intellect. At that moment, he was the first man outside his family who seemed to appreciate something about her the way she had never seen before. Belle tried to regulate her breathing, but nothing was successful in taming her racing heart. "If I may ask your name?"

"Belle," she replied.

"What a _perfect_ choice!" He interfered before Belle could tell her full name. "But you need one more thing. A _perfect_ maiden would need a _perfect_ partner," he spoke softly, drawing her attention right to his lips, and Belle couldn't help but gape at him in response to that unexpected gesture.

"May I?" And without preamble, he dipped into a flourishing bow and slipped his hand into hers.

Trapped in her own shock, Belle withdrew her hand a little too abruptly and knocked one of the decorative pots, smashing it to pieces. "Oh, goodness… I am…. I apologize for my carelessness, Your Honor."

The Prince laughed amusedly. "Oh, don't worry. It was a gift from a dreadful aunt of mine."

"But…" Belle trailed off, caught in a moment of perplexity, surprise and guilt.

"Well…" the Prince smiled meaningfully. "If there is any action that could erase or assuage your guilt, you can begin by accepting my invitation to dance."

 _Dance?_ Nervously, Belle shifted her sight. "I'm afraid that I am going to disappoint you with my skill. I barely learn how to dance," Belle refused politely. "I am just warming up for the party tomorrow."

"I suggest you have a drink first." Suddenly, two glasses of champagne appeared on his hands as though transpire from nowhere. "It is said that alcohol would help you ease the tension and make you dare to take more risk," he said with a mischievous grin, offering the glass to her.

Time seemed to still, as she stayed focus on how close their fingers came to touching. As soon as she had the glass firmly enclosed within her digits, she quickly pulled back. Thankfully, he easily let her go, moving with bizarre grace, seemingly in tune with her movements.

"People said dancing with me is a dangerous experience," he said as he lifted the delicate glass in his hand, touching it with hers until it made a soft clicking sound.

"Don't you think I might be a little too young for this?" Belle studied the bubbling substance, glittering hypnotically under the dim light of the candle.

"There is no age limit for having fun, Mademoiselle Belle," he replied smoothly, bringing the glass to his lips. Belle could hear a laugh in his words.

"Now… shall we?" Something on her face must have given away her silent yes, because, with one sure move, he pulled her hand and guided it to his shoulder. The orchestra was playing a wonderfully sentimental aria as the Prince reached her waist, securing her in his arm. As she tried to adjust her move synchronously to his, Belle accidentally stepped on his shoes.

"Thankfully I've drunk enough anesthetic," he joked at her blunder. Belle couldn't help but equated his smile that mysterious smile that had a mixture of sarcasm and playfulness.

"Now," he breathed that softly again, this time very close to her ears. "Trust me… Try to relax. Don't think too much about theory, the step… just listen to the rhythm, inhale… then exhale…." he said, inviting her to lean closer to him.

Belle took a few hesitant steps. However, her body acted treacherously, disobeying her command as though it had a mind of its own. Alcohol really had lowered her guard a little bit and muddled with her mind. Before she knew it, she was pressing close to the Prince, close enough to even feel his breath spilling over her bare shoulder. It took her a few calming breaths to adapt to the 'new' sensation to be this close to a man.

She slowly moved her feet, mirroring his movement. In the background, the voice of chatter mingled with music, a wonderful atmosphere. Belle's head felt light as the Prince twirled her swiftly before immediately caught her again in his arms. He had astonished her with his ability to make an ungraceful, inexperienced dancer like her, sweeping and swirling effortlessly like a maestro. His manner was like a well-practiced routine: confident and rehearsed. Belle wondered how many women had been fallen into his arms before - seduced by his charm, beguiled by his words and comforted by his warm hands just like he did to her now.

"Have anyone told you that you are very eloquent with words, handsome and gallant, Your Highness?" Belle had no idea why she asked. She blamed it again on the alcohol daze subconsciousness.

"Ah, way too many Mademoiselle," he laughed, unrestrained masculine haughtiness radiated in his words. But he quickly steered away from the topics. "How about you?" he probed while his hand deftly guiding her for another twirl. "Have any man told you that you are _beautiful_?"

"I have never been…. this _close_ to a man before," Belle confessed. She cursed her tongue for sounding irritatingly bashful yet inviting at once.

"What a pity," he replied with the possessive glint in his eyes that spoke contradictory to his words.

"I hope I don't upset anyone," he smiled, before saying something that made Belle's heart seized a couple of beats. "Oh…," he said, pretending a contemplative frown. "Is that your way to say that you are available?"

Belle nearly stumbled on her own foot, flushing pink on the Prince's unwarranted allegation. Adam laughed, Belle began to wonder whether alcohol had influenced his brain and apprehended his rationale too much.

"I am afraid life in a limelight didn't suit me, Your Honor," Belle quipped with the first and most plausible answer surfaced in her brain."Is it nice to be royalty?" She asked, surprised with her own voice that sounded calm and composed despite her thundering heart.

"Depends, if you like being ordered to marry to the girl sitting next to you every dinner, then perhaps yes," he said, skilfully supporting her into a dip. If not because he was her dance partner, Belle would feel a bite of jealousy at his phenomenal ability to move with such carefree ease.

"I see..." Belle tore her eyes from his, worried they could cast a spell that made her unable and helpless to resist his advances.

But to her dismay, she even let the Prince's warm hands touch her cheek. The warmth penetrated through her skin, seeping through her blood, rousing the pressure of her heart that barely could cope with his unrestrained charm. There was a latent sexuality about him, but now, under the perusal of golden candlelight, it had become an aura of sophistication and inescapable attraction. His eyes meticulously studied her features, from her visage down and stopped at the sight of her pendant.

"It's my Maman's," Belle managed, making for the lack of words between them. "Rose is her favorite bloom."

Her words incited a kind of inner struggle within him - which Belle immediately recognized - it was the same battle that had consumed her from the fading memory of the most important person in her life.

"She loved roses too," he replied absently, and Belle understood who was he referring to.

"I should offer you my condolences for the untimely departure of your father, Prince Louis-Philippe...it must be hard to handle the grief and ruling a kingdom at the same time," Belle remarked. She saw his jaw tighten and a spark of enmity flashed in his eyes. The Prince's tumultuous relationship with his father was well-known public secret, but Belle had never suspected the vehemence of his hatred, not until now. Despite his anger, the Prince managed to return her the smile and maintained his princely mask.

"Thank you," he replied tersely, hoping to dispel the tension in the atmosphere.

Belle detected an undeniable sadness in his voice that had nothing to do with losing his father. "I'm sorry to bring an appropriate matter in such happy occasion, Your Highness."

"It's not your fault," he replied. To be honest, the only grief Adam felt was the things left unsaid between them. He was dying to tell his cruel father how much that man had ruined his childhood, wasted his life and tarnished the memory of the woman he claimed to be his beloved wife.

"I just hope things were different with him and me."

Adam tried to silence his deep resentment and concealed the mental scar of how much that man had hurt him. However, they lurked just below the surface, dormant but always nagging, clogging his heart until it becomes so heavy it hurt to breathe.

"Come with me."

Belle let the Prince guide her through the palace garden, into the edge of the woods. The moonlight cast its silver glow upon a grand looking epitaph, marking the last resting place of Lady Marie Therese. Next to hers, another gravestone stood, clean and new, was of her husband, Prince Louis-Philippe.

"I lost my mother too," Belle admitted. She had speculated many kinds of reaction, but the narrowing of his eyes, as though suspiciously analyzing her motives was not one of them. But he immediately apologized when he noticed the hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I… I don't easily trust anyone." Somehow, his flustered words sounded more truthful than his fluent ones. An old sentiment strung the pair together, some foreign connection from years past. She fixed him with a sincere smile, the first Adam saw of her tonight.

"My Papa said, Maman is gone but never forgotten," Belle said, biting her sorry smile.

Adam automatically extricated his father from the equation. He detested thinking about him, just as he had selectively blocked him out of his mind when he was with his mother during her last years. Keeping the memory of his mother required that kind of mental surgery. With a wisp of nostalgia, he remembered his days had that always ended in resentment, tears, and an empty bottle of whatever he got his hands on first.

Was it good that this pain was slowly going away? Or was it good that he still felt it? Was it good that he still felt the touch of his mother's hand and heard the sounds of her final words in his head?

Belle caught something in his blue eyes that regarded her from beneath half-lowered lids seemed to be drifting somewhere. She had heard about Adam's unseparated bond and closeness to his departed mother. Relating the experience of her own, made her heart grew in unspeakable empathy.

A moment later, they returned to the balcony.

"That was a fabulous dance," Belle breathed, reinforcing her courage to hold the prince's hand and breaking another sweet smile.

"...said a girl who said she couldn't dance," he piped, darting her a flirtatious wink for good measure.

Belle pretended to look annoyed, recognizing the hint of mischief in his claim. "I should've stepped on your foot harder." He laughed, melodious and carefree at her joke. Belle felt an unexplainable pride after managing to make him sounded happy and at ease around her.

"Thank you for tonight, Your Highness. It could've been a spectacular failure if it wasn't because you are such a great dancer."

"My pleasure Mademoiselle. I would like to offer you another dance, but I'm afraid I have to meet other public demand tonight."

He retrieved her hand and planted one waxy kiss, brushing his lips on the knuckles of her hand a fraction too long to be appropriate. And that alien, fuzzy feeling wrapped her again with its warmth. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, wordlessly imploring her to surrender into his arms. As though under a spell, Belle stepped closer, ignoring a thousand bell blaring in her ears.

Sudden approaching footfalls declared someone was about to arrive at the scene. Belle's finger automatically curled back as she tore herself away from the prince, grateful that her brain still functioning properly after so many unsettling events that night.

"Cogsworth…" breathed the Prince, smothering a smile. He surprisingly sounded neutral even though the dangerous gleam in his eyes said clearly promise the butler's impending doom. "Can't you see that I am _occupied_ at the moment?"

"Yes, Master...uh, but… but someone is waiting for you downstairs."

"Thank you. After I bid goodnight to the lady here, I shall be attending to the matter." Adam cleared his throat.

"Uh, yes Master….A-at her earliest convenience, of course," the attendant stammered before leaving them for another moment of privacy.

"We should see each other again," the Prince whispered, voice almost seductive, he gazed into her eyes deeply, and Belle wondered whether the Prince could see her blush and discomfort.

When he seemed about to leave, an odd mixture of relief and yearning filled her. She wasn't sure whether she wanted him gone or wanted him here. At the last second, though, he reached her hand again and kissed it one more time - so light, so brief, yet so warm and memorable. He bowed once more with experienced dignity before heading towards the door.

Belle blinked, watching him weaving his hand expertly, cutting through the crowd standing along the fringe of the ballroom before disappearing from view.

* * *

Plumette cut through the street of Villeneuve. With the money Francois gave her earlier, she had procured more clothing and a pair of shoes for her and her brother. Ever since their flight of freedom, Plumette and her brother had been sleeping roughly from place to place. In this time of need, she had come to know a benevolent potter, Monsieur Jean Potts, who owned a small stall on the corner of the market square.

"Afternoon, Monsieur." A soft greeting caught Jean Potter's attention from tidying up his little stall.

"Oh, Miss Aubertine…!" He replied exuberantly. "How may I help you today?"

Plumette offered him a smile. Despite the intense poverty that strangled the province, Monsieur Jean was one of the rare hospitable man in the village that had generously opened the basic facility behind his stall for her and her brother to use.

"Is it possible for us to use your bathroom again today, Monsieur Jean?" she asked shyly. Since both hapless children made their escape, Plumette and her brother had been sleeping rough on the street of Villeneuve, relying on the mercy of passerby for food, water, and shelter whenever the weather turned hostile.

"Well yes, of course!" he replied."All you need is to ask," he smirked before opening the access door and inviting his guest into his quarter. On the back of his stall, there was a small space enough for a single bed, a small dining table, and a bathroom. The room was dingy, tiny and cramped with pottery equipment, but it had all the essentials for him to live away from his family whenever he had to.

"Pardon the mess," he said, trying to make some space so they could pass through.

"Oh, Monsieur. You've been too kind. None of us mind this."

"Good, because I am not planning to tidy them all up anytime soon," he guffawed. His eyes didn't fail to register a few sacks of bread and a large bag of clothing under Plumette's care.

"What is the occasion? You seem to carry more of a load than usual," he commented as a query.

"I am offered a job in the castle," explained Plumette."I met a kind gentlemen who gave me all these bread and gave me money for clothing."

Mr. Potts gasped. " _Mon Dieu,_ Plumette, that's brilliant news!" he said, genuinely pleased. "You know my wife works there. You can always come to her if you encounter any problem or need a little guidance. I am sure she'll be delighted."

It was Plumette's turn gasp after recalling the name of the lady she supposed to contact. "Is your wife… Mrs. Potts?"

"Yes!"

"That's a pleasant coincidence. I was asked by the gentlemen who gave me all these to see her."

"I'd say you made a perfect addition to her troop," Mr. Potts remarked.

"What are you going to do with your brother, though?" he asked tentatively. The boy in question cowered as soon as his name was mentioned, hiding quietly under the shadow of his sister. The enthusiastic shine in Plumette's eyes seemed to be buffeted by sudden realization of the unfavouring situation.

Discerning her sudden change of demeanor, Mr. Potts reached her shoulder to offer her comfort. "Ah, worry not my dear. I have an idea!"

Jean Potts took the children across the street. Tucked in the far corner of the market square was a quiet alleyway that led into a small chapel.

"Pere Donatien," Mr. Potts beckoned as he tapped the door. An old gentleman with silvery hair, black outfit with round collar emerged.

"Ah, Monsieur Jean, what was the occasion? Have you mistaken the day again? The mass is on Sunday," he teased.

"Oh… no no, I am here to ask for a favor." Pere Donatien invited both children and Mr. Potts into the small chapel.

"So, you don't know who could take care of your brother while you are working, Miss Aubertine?" clarified Pere Donatien after Mr. Potts narrated the story. Plumette tipped her head reluctantly as an answer. There were not many people in the village that had the luxury of free time at hand, let alone having enough resources to take care someone else's child.

"Well, I have never made this kind of concession before," the man admitted, flashing a sympathetic glance towards Plumette. "But I am willing to house and take care of your brother while you are working. He could attend the village school while I am running my parochial duty."

Instantaneously, Plumette's disquiet expression melted into joy and disbelief.

"What a splendid idea, your brother will benefit greatly from that." Mr. Potts stamped his approval.

"That is settled then," Pere Donatien said contentedly. However, the subject of their conversation began to flinch restlessly knowing the impending fate that befell him.

Registering her brother anxiousness, Plumette let out a smile of her own that turned into a slight grimace when she took too deep of a breath, gripping his still held hand a little tighter. She wasn't liking the idea of leaving her brother behind. But this was the right choice when there was none. "Jean...you'll be fine. I'll see you whenever I can. I promise."

But her words yet to achieve their desired effect. With a new wave of sobs, Jean wrapped his arms around his sister's waist like a vise, desperately clinging to her as though recognizing their impending separation.

"I'll go and grab a glass of water," said Mr. Potts, disappearing behind the door.

Trying to assuage the boy's mental struggle, the benevolent priest kindly prompted him. "What's your name young man?" he asked with a quiet voice, kneeling on one foot to come to little Jean's eye level in order to look less intimidating.

The answer was wavering and took several attempts to get out, but he eventually got a shaky squeak. "Jean… Jean-Robert Aubertine," he replied timidly, voice almost a whisper. Out of instinct to comfort the boy, the priest reached his hand that he probably didn't know was shaking.

"Can I call you _Robert_?" he said with a soothing voice, his hand gently rubbing the boy's back absentmindedly. Simultaneously trying to get his mind off his irrational worry. From her vantage point, Plumette could see the indecision flash across her brother's face as Pere Donatien tried to encourage him to engage in a positive conversation.

The boy finally gave him a small nod and a faint smile. It was almost unseen, but a good sign of breakthrough.

"Good! I'm Pere Donatien," he answered, giving him a reassuring smile."How old are you, Robert?"

"Seven," he replied, sounding less hesitant in his answer. By the time Mr. Potts returned with a glass of water, Jean's sobs had quieted to soft hiccups and his hands completely unwinded from Plumette's waist.

"Ah, a big boy like you is just what I need right now. Would you like to help me to rearrange the liturgy for the Mass tonight? I have a few sweets you can have as a reward for helping."

The frazzled boy looked tempted with the lucrative proposal, and the Priest didn't plan to miss his chance, pulling out a bag of sweet as a proof before the small amount of trust that little Robert had given him diminished.

* * *

Notes: Ah finally, Belle met Adam. Sadly, she had lowered her guard and disregarded her mentor's warning about the playboy Prince. And I also revealed my headcanon that Jean-Robert Aubertine who eventually became Pere Robert was actually Plumette's brother. Also, I require a little help for Belle/Prince proposal as the part of my one shot collection (you can check on my profile, my fic called 'Days in the Sun', credit will be given as due.

Thank you once again for to wonderful civilwarrose for her fabulous beta.


	9. The Warning

That night Belle couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't get her mind off the captivating dance with the Prince. She touched her own waist, where she could still feel the sensation from his gloved finger, remembering the cherished feeling of his arms. Exhaustion spread through her body, her ankles hating her from standing for hours on the unnatural heels. Despite that, she smiled contentedly to herself.

Belle's mind recited the magical moment her heroine stumbled into an unlikely meeting with their prince in a lot of fairy tales. Could this be her version of the story? Could the Prince be the vision of her future? A secret promise of things to come?

She remembered the look in his blue eyes after he kissed her hand, as though it could prolong the parting of their hands as long as possible. She observed the debonair aristocrat walking away, sending her one of his classics, disarming smiles on his way out the door.

* * *

Adam rushed in the direction where his servant had disappeared. _This better be important, Cogsworth!_ he cursed.

The image of the beautiful girl in her stunning red dress still lingered in his mind. What made her so… special in his sight?

Undoubtedly, Adam had seen plenty attractive woman in his courts, but the girl he met tonight was...unique…unconventional. She didn't flaunt her slender curves, nor wear makeup that would amplify her perfect face. Her dress lacked vibrant motifs, and her accessories were void of glitz or showiness. Her scent was of fresh roses mingled with old books.

But, there was something more appealing about her that was deeper than superficial beauty. Perhaps her inquisitive eyes? Her unadulterated face? Or was it the color of her outlandish dress that reminded him of his mother's favorite bloom? Adam was certain his interest rooted from all the combination of those factors.

"Good evening Your Highness." A sweet voice snapped Adam from his day-dream. A girl stood in front of him drawing a modest curtsy. She was dressed in plain blue silk. It was simple but perfectly tailored to appeal to their fashion sensibilities. Her hair piled up on her head to reveal her slender neck.

"Elizabeth! I didn't expect you…."

"Adam, my darling… of course, it's a surprise," the girl gushed and rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

Lady Elizabeth of Hampshire was one of Lady Marie's acquaintances when she was still alive. The girl was closer to Adam's age, perhaps merely a few years older, but her maturity and wisdom had made her sounded like years beyond her age. Perhaps it was the loss of her younger brother that kindled Elizabeth's caring and protective nature. And she was one of a few sincere ones among many sweet-talking ladies in the courts. Adam much preferred an honest, blunt question than a catty gossip or a snide remark. Thus, the sibling-like relationship between the two formed almost instantaneously.

"Where…. Where is Tyrone?" Adam asked, stepping backward and released the girl from his hug.

"At home," she replied succinctly. Meanwhile, Cogsworth sauntered over to offer them a drink.

" _At home_?" Adam parroted incredulously. He couldn't believe Tyrone - a party animal - had preferred to sulk and rot in his castle and missing a night of absolute fun.

"He is busy dealing with some unhappy foreign dignitary. Apparently, the port facility in our principality was beyond repair, and a lot of the merchants' ships couldn't moor," Elizabeth launched into her well-rehearsed explanation. "Anyway… he'll be occupied for a good three-four weeks. But a doting husband as he is, he didn't want me to share his misery and told me to explore the province - and to my heart's delight, I remembered you," she smiled after articulating all the finer points of her sudden visit.

Adam eyed her skeptically, narrowing his eyes. He tried to decode any sign of lies, but he found none. From the start, Adam had never failed to vocalize in his disapproval of her relationship with Tyrone - his distant cousin that Adam perceived as the seasonal philanderer with tons of money. But Elizabeth's parents obviously had a different idea.

"I know, you were so adamant that Tyrone and I were two creatures with polar opposite personalities, impossible to be compatible in any way." He heard her gently chiding his cynicism. "But let me fill you in. A year ago, we've reconciled our differences, and now, I am happily married, Adam. I know this sounds crazy, and I know your cousin could be downright obtuse and strange - especially with his peculiar fetish for snails, but Tyrone is actually a really good man."

Adam barked a boisterous laugh which was instantaneously killed when he realized Elizabeth was being truthful. "I actually learn to cook snail three ways," appended the girl.

"Wait? What? You… are you serious?"

That can't be. Tyrone used to spend countless summers in Villeneuve before his father established him as the Prince of Principality in Southern France. As teenagers and bachelors, their life had been defined by the latest party, the latest drunken binge, the latest string of nameless women…

Although both of them were studious and undeniably witty, they would run fast and far from any hint of commitment, especially when it dealt with the subject of choosing a wife. Until one summer, Tyrone suddenly disappeared without a trace. There was no news of him for months, until last year, when he suddenly emerged as an entirely different man. The rumor even said Tyrone became responsible, prudent and judicious - the allegation that Adam found it hard to believe. Soon after, Tyrone spontaneously announced his betrothal to Lady Elizabeth of Hampshire.

"You think I've escaped?" she smirked at him."Why would…-"

"I bet you couldn't miss my party," Adam interjected stubbornly, still couldn't accept Elizabeth's admittance. Tyrone might have changed a lot in the last couple years, but he doubted he would ever be the devoted kind, let alone capable of earning a woman's affection.

The girl shook her head but couldn't fight the grin that stretched her lips."Well, if you insist. No one hosted parties better than Prince Adam," she cheered.

"Do you feel the difference?" Adam grinned smugly.

"Hmm…. more lavish? More food? More guests?" Elizabeth commented after taking a closer look to her surrounding.

"Very observant indeed," praised Adam.

"You always amazed me, Adam. But don't tell me you blow off your inheritance in a single night."

"You think?" Adam laughed and shook his head. "I am not that reckless, Lizzie. I raised the tax."

"You clever scoundrel," she said, with a teasing slap on his hand.

"Not forgetting the poker table, plenty of wine and….. _the dance_ ," Adam continued to advertise.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, suddenly remembering Adam's extraordinary charm in waltz.

"Gods, it's criminal how dancing comes so easily for you."

"I'd gladly be your partner tomorrow night, Mademoiselle," he offered."It'll be a highlight. I assure you."

He expected her to accept his offer, curving her hand around his arms and joining his banquet as she usually did. It never came. Instead, all he got was a lackadaisical nod and a faint, somber smile. He already offered poker tables, expensive wine, and the best possible partner at the dance, how could she be still displeased?

"Something tells me that you are here for neither of them," Adam managed to say.

A slow sigh escaped Elizabeth's lips. "You are right. I am here for something else." She paused as though arranging her words furtively. "Adam, when we were in Versailles a couple of weeks ago I overheard my father say something about you."

"Interesting…" Adam said, sipping his drink slowly.

"I think your definition of _interesting_ needs revisiting," Elizabeth chided him with a smirk.

Adam chuckled. "Do I really?"

"Adam," This time Elizabeth's voice turned serious. "They are talking about you embezzling the provincial budget, corrupting the tax revenue and compromising some confidential information."

Adam gasped, quickly sucking a slow breath to appear calm, even though his inner being had gone completely berserk at the news. But he knew it was about time that Versailles found about his conspiracy to conceal his corruption in overspending the provincial budget.

"I think Versailles is scheming to depose you from the throne," warned Elizabeth.

Adam cleared his throat. The cavalier prince suddenly slumped in his chair, looking more defeated than she had ever seen him look. She walked slowly towards him, putting a hand on his arm.

"But it's not too late. They are yet to stack all the allegation about you - first, they will need…"

"A proof…" said Adam quietly. Elizabeth knew despite his calm veneer, her friend was mortified.

"Exactly," she countered. "My wild guess says that they will infiltrate your castle with unsuspecting underlings. Filling your staff with spies that would eventually gather all the necessary evidence before dragging you to the court and evict you from the country. Or worse." The girl made a motion of slicing her own throat.

"Thanks Liz, that was very comforting," Adam said dryly. "What can I do without a friend like you?"

"Of course, anything for you, my friend," Elizabeth laughed, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

* * *

Lady Elizabeth retreated into her bedchamber. Inside the confinement of her room, she picked up the ornate mirror. The reflection of a woman with diversely different facial features appeared as she looked into her own silhouette. Elizabeth began to chant some incomprehensible words. The mirror turned foggy before a hazy image of a man appeared.

"Agathe," the man from the mirror greeted. Which immediately followed by a scrutinizing physical analysis. "You look good on that couture gown, although it's a little risqué for the formal atmosphere - showing a little too much skin at the chest," he pointed out.

"I'd appreciate your exquisite fashion taste, but I'm afraid I had to ignore your tasteful critique tonight," Agathe said.

The man grinned before moving to the main topics. "So, how's your... _mission_?"

"I've warned him," Agathe replied. "Now let see whether he will do anything to rectify his mistake. I think I've struck a nerve. He looked terrified with the prospect of exile."

"After hearing your stories for years - I bet that hubristic prince wouldn't simply repent," the man in the mirror stated his opinion. "It's too much out of his character."

"Clement, we have to give him a chance before punishing him," Agathe reasoned.

"You should call me Tyrone. Someone could've eavesdropped on you," objected the man in the mirror.

Agathe chuckled softly and put on a mock affectionate voice. "Right, my dear, _Tyrone_. I think anyone will freak out if they knew I am talking to my husband in a mirror."

"Just call it the perks of being a mystical being," Clement quipped. "I have a feeling that I am far from done playing husband and pretended to be Adam's nonexistent cousin," he laughed. "Not that I didn't enjoy to be your pretend husband because you are quite a good wife."

"Thank you, my dear," Agathe said in feigned sweetness. "Isn't it ironic you are now impersonating the Prince you'd cursed years ago?"

The man in the mirror guffawed at that. "Thankfully he is quite pleasant looking. I could just about bear to live the legacy of his foolhardy behavior. But I have a bad feeling that the handsome Adam of Conde wouldn't do much better than mine."

"I will give him some time to repent from his self-centered behavior and make amends," she revealed. "I've promised his mother, Marie, that I wouldn't let him turn like his father."

"Right," replied the man, sounding satisfied with her answer. "Hope you have better luck than I am."

"I'll try," Agathe smiled before excusing herself and chanting another mantra. Subsequently, the reflection of the man dissipated into the depth of the mirror.

* * *

Note: Since this is an AU, I decided to do things slightly differently from the film. In this story, Belle was the first to have a little crush on Prince Adam during their dance, in contrast, later on, Adam would be the one who fell in love with Belle when he was the Beast.

In this story, Agathe, the Enchantress, disguised herself as Lady Elizabeth (Agathe's fictional persona). She received a little help from Clement, a fellow Enchanter who impersonating himself as Adam's distant cousin, Tyrone - the man Clement had cursed because of his selfish and reckless behavior. Considering Adam spent a lot of his summer with Tyrone, pretending to be married to him will help Elizabeth/Agathe to gain closer access to Adam and gave a better excuse to come and visit him. Agathe felt that it's unfair to punish Adam without giving him a chance to repent. Thus, she came to verbally warn Adam that all these partying and uncontrollable spending must end.

Special thanks to my beta civilwarrose :-)


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